


Castle Towers

by Gothams_Only_Wolf



Series: The Glumbumble(bee)'s Knees [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dragon Riders, Dragons, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Genderfluid Character, Letters, M/M, Magical Inheritance, Post-World War I, Shapeshifting, Slow Build, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-12 21:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gothams_Only_Wolf/pseuds/Gothams_Only_Wolf
Summary: Through War, through travel and perhaps even Death, Newt Scamander will always know Percival Graves. A tale of five meetings and the one time an imposter was present.





	1. A Dragon Rescues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steampunkepsilon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steampunkepsilon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [death of a bachelor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11903601) by [gudetama (elementary)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elementary/pseuds/gudetama). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be honest with you and say that I've not set foot in the world of Harry Potter for quite sometime, fusions nonwithstanding. 
> 
> Err, enjoy?

* * *

**I.**

* * *

**-Aftermath of the Second Battle of Passchendaele; November 10th, 1917; Wizarding Frontlines-**

The first time he met Percival Graves, he was atop a furious Ukrainian Ironbelly with his hair spilling over his eyes due to his lost hairtie. 

He wrenched on Justifiat's shoulder spines and the dragon arched his neck in an attempt to bite at Newt's thigh. 

"Justifiat," he grumbled irritably, "you'd better have good reason for your fractiousness." 

The dragon bulged in distress at the fallen soldier in American colors, shallow breathing the only indicator of life amongst the mud and blood and—

Newt batted his thought process away, tapping Justifiat's ribs gently in order to get him to land. 

He hurried over and almost recoiled when he saw the MACUSA flag patch. An American out in this hellish landscape was the last thing he expected but, well, it was _war_ after all. 

Newt didn't dare use Lumos in the failing light, merely grunting as he hefted the other man over his shoulder, mumbling apologies for his awkward angles and sharp shoulders. 

" _Accio_ wand." A single wand, rowan by sight, shifted up and into the man's wrist sheathe. 

All he got in reply was a low groan but it was enough in this forefront of hellish mechanizations. 

A tiny spark of life in this place full of those bound for the Fields of Death.

* * *

Landing with a passenger in the middle of the field meant for the Wizarding half of the war effort brought forth an explosion of noise. 

"Sgt. Scamander, what is the meaning of—By Merlin's linen drawers, is that—?" 

"Someone from the American side, yes, and the only one to make it out." Newt confirmed as he dismounted Justifiat and led the Ironbelly by his chin into the dragon pens. 

"No bridle again, Scamander! They need the training!" 

"Justifiat will chew right through the flame guard and you know it, Hillard." Newt fired back as he chucked his mount under his craw. "Won't you, you great big wyrm?" The dribbled propellant had Hillard backing up but Newt only huffed and wiped it off on the flame-retardant fencing. "Who's a good beastie, hmm? _You are~_ " 

"Can't tell you Scamanders a damn thing, can we?" Hillard ribbed him with a fond snort. 

"Liam, you mean Newie, don't you? I would never in a hundred years-" Theseus had a hand over his chest, looking mortally offended. 

" _Both_ of you act as though these dragons wouldn't make you a snack in half-a-heartbeat if you removed the saddles." Liam countered. "Hero or not, you don't take the right precautions." 

Theseus sobered at that, a scowl where teasing had been. "You know I hate that, Hillard." 

It was the worst kept secret in the British section of the Wizarding Camp, honestly; everyone knew the Scamanders were of a kind with the Ironbellies, the Greens and the singular Black they had in their Company (much to the MacFusty's chagrin). 

Draco corde protulerium, better known as Dragon Heart, was considered a neutral trait, so long as the families it ran in were correspondingly behaved. The Scamanders—as Newt had come to learn—were considered chaotic good. 

The yell from the Infirmary tent had Newt bolting for it, his coltish limbs (as Mummy put it) coursing over the frosted ground. 

"Unhand me, I need to-" the graveled voice had Newt interested even as dark eyes flashed like that of a dragon. He skirted around the Healers, got in between them and the soldier and raised both hands in the international symbol for surrender. 

"You're in the British Camp and you're the only survivor. I picked you up, do you remember?" He soothed, slowly lowering his hands while keeping them in the sight of the other soldier. "I'm Sgt. Scamander of the Dragon Retention Unit. May I know your name?" 

"Captain Graves, Warlock Rearguard Squadron... Though I suspect I'll be transferred now." Graves, Graves, Graves.... Why was the name ringing a bell? "My ancestor was of the original American Aurors." Newt nearly yelped at the response. "You were muttering it, Sgt. Scamander." 

"My, ah, my apologies. You should let the Healers see to you." Newt couldn't meet the man's eyes for more than a moment, his bravery long dashed against the frost. 

"Sgt. Scamander?" 

"Yes, Captain Graves?" Newt held onto himself by sheer force of will, hazel locking briefly with fathomless dark pools. 

"Thank you." 

"You're welcome, Captain."

* * *

He lost himself in the dragon pens, particularly that of the sole Hebridean Black whom he'd named Gladiolus. All of the dragons had names and feelings; Newt felt more at home in the enclosure than he ever did around people. 

A throat clearing at the edge of Gladio's pen had him looking up out of habit. Gladio huffed out a faint fog but went back to stuffing most of his face into Newt's lap. Newt absently scratched and received a soft rumble in response. 

"I was told I'd find you here." Captain Graves' repaired uniform only made him seem sterner, the severity of the silver in the black hair only emphasizing the impression. "I would make amends, as it were." 

"What for Captain?" Newt blurted. He was about to apologize again when the man gave a soft chuckle. 

"I'm well aware that my reputation precedes me but you need not fear me. My Division won't be able to take me back until morning with the Wards being up for the night. I was hoping I'd be able to dine with my rescuer, if you wouldn't mind?" 

"Of course, Captain." 

"Percival." 

"Huh?" Newt was in the middle of shuffling Gladio's head off of his lap. 

"My given name. I hear enough of my rank as it is; being an ordinary Wizard for one night would be welcome." The faint smile softened the man's face, enough to where Newt's tense shoulders relaxed. 

"Newt, then, if we're giving names." He offered with a rueful grin of his own.

* * *

Graves (Percival, his mind insisted) listened intently as Newt expounded on his book, still in pieces and bits of parchment stuck together with sheer will and a half-hearted Charm or two. 

He talked about the trips he wanted to go on, gesticulating as he did with These and then he froze mid-point. 

"I am so sorry! I've been blathering on about such a boring subject and I'm sure you'd like to..." 

"I quite enjoyed it, actually." Percival murmured. "I find myself surprised at some of your work but it suits you. Please, by all means, continue." 

Newt opened his mouth and all that came out was a surprised croak. 

"Have some Fire Whiskey and tell me more; I think you were expounding on... What were they, Occamies?" 

He blamed the fire and the bitter cold for the flush that caught his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	2. A Dragon Hoards Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is already halfway to crack, the way things are going in the next few chapters. 
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

**II.**

* * *

**-Official End of The Great War; London; November 11th, 1918-**

In the midst of being swung around in London in celebration, he was spun into the arms of someone surprisingly familiar. 

"Oof! Oh my–goodness! Captain Graves?!" Newt choked on the 'Merlin' bit as they were in Muggle London. 

"Blessed Mor-row! Sgt. Scamander, a surprise you may be but a welcome one indeed," Percival greeted him with a crinkle of his eyes, his corded muscles flexing as he set Newt down gently. "Still as gangly as a colt, aren't you?" 

"Mum said it'll go," he argued stubbornly even as he towed Graves—Percival, he said to call him _Percival_ —towards the discrete Griffin's Head Café. "Have you eaten?" 

"Now you sound like _my_ Mother, Newt," came the sardonic reply. "though you'd be right." 

"Ha, I thought so. The Griffin's got fantastic food and tea, maybe even some coffee. I know you Americans are peculiar about your drink choices. Honestly, These might've exaggerated, but with older brothers you can never tell if they're _joking_ or not... Have I upset you, Captain?" Newt pulled up short of the caff, waiting for Graves to collect his thoughts. 

"Percival, please," he reiterated absently before, "Theseus Scamander is your older brother?" 

"... Yes, yes he is." Newt braced for the fawning about Theseus's many 'heroic' deeds. He'd had several wizards and witches break into exhaustive praise of his brother before this. 

"Heroes must run in the family then," Percival murmured as he opened the door for Newt and took off the cap, black and silver spilling forward before being scraped back, the splintering scars the work of a curse. 

Newt reached for the scarred hand, clucking his tongue before he tucked his wand in between his teeth and dug around for the salve he'd made. "Uff dis on dat." He spat his wand back out and sheathed it, repeating his instructions. "Use this on that scar and any others. It should lessen the ache and it smells pleasant enough if you like catmint. Let me know if I've overstepped." 

The indulgent smile, however briefly it shone, was like glimpsing sunlight though shattered stained glass; breathtaking and heartbreaking at the same time. 

Newt doubted it'd had much chance to shine in The Great War, so to see it now was wonderful. 

"You're hardly overstepping, considering the last time we met I was heavily injured." Pericval murmured as the house-elf popped up to take their order. Newt placed his order, hiding his hands beneath the table as he twisted them. "Is something wrong?" 

"Ah, it's... a Scamander thing. Not everyone approves of our line of thinking after all." Newt explained even as his tea and Percival's coffee appeared, just as they'd ordered it. 

When Percival flicked his wand in a discrete Warding motion, Newt redefined his initial impression of Percival Graves. 

"I'd like to hear it but I'm also not about to go breaking up a fight in a café, you understand?" came the calm response. 

"House elves don't deserve to be bound to families." He blurted, busying himself in squeezing his lemon wedge over his tea. "Nothing should be bound to another being for the sake of living." 

At that, Percival drew back in muted surprise. "What makes you say that?" 

"Dragon Hearts, we're terribly fond of freedom, you see, and it chafes us when we see anything, dragon or not, trapped or bound by something we cannot break." He explained bitterly, setting the wedge down with a grimace he can't help. "There's a reason you'll find Scamanders doing things that help _everyone_ and not just magical folk." 

"Dragon Hearts?" The curiosity had him glancing up to see his acquaintance cocking his head to the side. 

"Those of a kin with dragons; the formal name would be Draco corde protulerium and the ability's seen somewhere on the scale between neutral and evil." He offered with a shrug as he watched his tea refill. 

"We call them Dragon Speakers in America. I'd no idea you had such an ability." Percival admitted. 

"What did you think I was doing with the Hebridean Black?!" Newt questioned incredulously as their food popped up as well, a full British breakfast for Newt and one without black pudding for Percival. 

"A Calming Charm, honestly, but massively overpowered to compensate for the dragon's high immunity." He replied as he dug into his food with gusto. Newt shook his head in wonderment and started in on his own meal, the clink of cutlery and chewing the most noise for some time. "What's it like?" 

"Being a Dragon—Speaker, was it?" When Percival nodded, Newt continued as he poked at his bacon. "Difficult. You relate more with magical creatures than you do magical folk, really, and magical folk are much less forgiving of your faults than the creatures. You learn their patterns better, learn to listen for their needs... Humans are so much more..." 

"Complicated?" 

"It's more... conflicting tone with opposite body language. When Mummy used to scold, her voice said anger but her body said relief. People say one thing and then do another. Animals do it too, mind you, but to a much lesser degree." Newt reflected as he speared the last of his bacon and ate it.

"Hnn." Percival hummed as he swallowed the last of his eggs. "It seems to me that you understand a great deal of creatures and people." Newt opened his mouth to object when Percival continued, "You see, I do not often get to listen to someone speak on such a subject that they're passionate about without the boundaries of politics. Everything I do, it's a political act whether I like it or not." 

"Because you're a Graves?" He asked, noting Percival's weary expression. 

"Precisely. To simply _be_ in the presence of another is a gift not many have been able to give me." 

"I suppose, as long as you're on my home turf, I should probably show you around Diagon Ally. Fortescue's makes a lovely Scorching Phoenix for days like this." Newt offered with a smile. 

"What, in Morgana's Name, is a Scorching Phoenix?" Percival's face was a work of art, his refined features bemused. 

"You'll just have to find out, now won't you?"

* * *

Percival, after trying the Phoenix, gave a warm chuckle and cradled the charmed mug in his hands. "Surprisingly similar to Mother's mulled wine, though with a great deal more kick. Was that a real Phoenix feather?" 

"It was," Newt replied as he sipped out of his own mug. "He barters for the down from a willing Phoenix every few years and switches them out before people can get tired of the flame displays. His Father cultivated the relationship and so did his Grandmother; it's of mutual benefit to them both." 

"That approach isn't used too much here, is it?" 

"You'll find Wizarding Britain to be backwards in quite a few things, I'm afraid." Newt dryly murmured as they passed the entrance to Horizont Alley. 

"To be entirely fair, I doubt America is all that much better." Percival snorted as he took the turn. "This isn't quite Diagon, is it?" 

"No, this would be Horizont Alley. It's not Diagon nor is it Knockturn so you'll find a number of questionable things but nothing strictly Dark or Light." 

"Chaotic good, much like every Scamander I meet, then." Percival quipped and this time Newt laughed until his cheeks were pink from amusement. 

"Well, when you put it like _that_ , I certainly hope so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	3. A Dragon and a Wampus Come to Terms With Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently my Newt Muse is perfectly happy traveling and having a pen pal who'll listen to his tangents! However, this is a 5+1 and this chapter's entirely too long already.
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

**III.**

* * *

**-Scamander Household; Feburary 20th, 1919-**

The first letter appeared with a magnificent Horned Owl, delivered at breakfast next to Newt's elbow. 

Theseus snatched the letter, written as it was on thick and rather official looking parchment with the MACUSA wax seal, and tilted it in the morning light before Newt could react. 

"These, give me that—" 

"Ooo, who do you know at the MACUSA?" Theseus wiggled the letter while shoving at Newt's face as though they were still at Hogwarts. 

"That's none of your business, you overgrown Jarvey—" 

"Theseus, give your brother his letter back. Newt, language," Father chided over the top of the Prophet.

Newt snatched it with two fingers and smoothed his thumb over the crisp navy ink that spelled out his name.

_**Newt Scamander** _

He cracked open the wax seal, narrowed his eyes at his brother and excused himself from the table, packing up buttered toast wedges and flicking his wand to levitate his tea behind him.

 _Dear Newt,_

_I do apologize for the seal and the official parchment, it was the only set I had on hand. I was hoping to continue our ~~friendship~~ aquaintenceship._

_With an entire ocean between us, I thought it best to either ask for your Floo address or to communicate via letter._

Newt nearly sprayed his toast crumbs at that. 

_As the Director of Magical Security, I find I have my own office and seal, thus the letter writing. It's open and spacious and has far too much black marble for want of any man. I shall do my best to fill it full of paperwork and assorted items._

_I find myself rather fond of the charmed mug. It holds a good memory and seems to reheat without fail, no matter how many nights I've used it._

_~~I don't suppose you could ask Fortescue what charm he used?~~_

_With Regard,_

_Pericval Graves, DoMS; Order of Morgana, 1st Class_

_P. S. Please use the Encryption Spell Occultatum and its counter Tutum in regards to any future letters._

Newt stuffed the last of his toast into his mouth, knocked back his tea with a grimace at the coldness of it, and bolted for his room. He kept ahold of the letter, dug around for the kit his Mum had given him and then Apparated into the hippogriff barn. 

The ruckus he kicked up was easily solved. 

Newt bowed to the herd's stallion, the stallion bowed back and the massive beasts subsided with squeaky whickers. They knew Newt and most had grown up with his hands on them at some point during their lives. 

He growled when the enchanted fountain pen didn't respond to his gentle tap and then it sprayed the hay with ink. " _Scourgify_. Could you respond properly, please?" 

The pen seemed to wilt at that, writing smoothly on the test bit of parchment as though it had always done so. 

**Dear Percival,**

**Imagine my suprise when I received a letter from you! A welcome one, mind you, but a surprise nonetheless.**

**Nothing would delight me more than becoming friends, though I think we are already. After all, it's not every day that I rescue a man from dragon back, now is it?**

**Technically, there isn't a charm on the mug; it was the Phoenix feather that created the warmth. Florian told me after I pestered him for quite some time as a child. It infuses the clay and keeps it at the optimal temperature of the liquid put inside the mug. If you put in cold water, it stays cold but put in a warm liquid like tea or coffee and the mug keeps it warm.**

**There I go again, blathering on about the obscure properties of Phoenix down...**

**Are you returning to the position or is it a new post? I know that as a Graves, it would seem that responsibility is in your blood. I'm sure you make quite the Director!**

**On quite the unrelated note, the hippogriffs we raise have found my hair and are grooming me as though I'm a particularly wayward chick.**

**... I'm glad that not all of your memories are tainted by the war. Did you know the Muggles are calling it The Great War? I fear there may be more on the horizon but that is the misgivings of a young Wizard, I suppose.**

**May this letter find you hale and well.**

**Regards,**

**Newt**

**P. S. Enclosed is a shed feather from my favorite Hippogriff, Laertes. You'll have to Unshrink it though.**

" _Occultatum_." 

He sent it off with the family owl, Hestia, the Scamander seal hastily pressed in green wax.

* * *

**-Ukrainian Dragon Reserve, Three Months into Apprenticeship; June 7th, 1919-**

«Scamander, you have a girl in America? She sent you a whole package! You sly Kneazel, I knew you had it in you!» Artem clapped Newt on the back as he dropped off a small package and a letter tied together with twine. 

" _Tutum_ ," he whispered to the letter, smiling at the revealed navy ink. 

_Dear Newt,_

_Imagine my astonishment when I received not one but **two** letters from the Scamander owlery. One was from you, one from 'If your hurt my brother, I'll feed you to our Hippogriff herd without a second thought.'_

"Oh Merlin, These, you did _not_ send that. Please tell me you didn't..." Newt groaned as he scrubbed a hand down his face. 

_I have mounted the Hippogriff feather and had it cleared with American customs as a gift._

_As for your question, the appointment was a recent one. I was Head Auror before I left and returned to find the position had been created for me. In retrospect, I think it has to do with my voluntary service and the fact that I'm a Graves._

_I have no idea if I'm any good as a Director but I strive to treat everyone as fairly as I can. Reserved as I know I can be, I fear I have built a reputation as a stern task-master who bends little and breaks even less._

_I've sent you a Wampus claw, shed naturally and offered to me as a trade by a member of the Cherokee Tribe. It's a House of the more widely-known Ilvermorny and my personal House. Does Hogwarts have similar organization or is it entirely different?_

_I did not mind the tangents you went on during our first meeting nor our second. The work you seem to find yourself involved in is fantastic in its own right._

_I know that your talent may help you on your journey but please be cautious._

_Regards,_

_Percival_

_P.S. I fear it to be a cauldron sat too long over flame, a sore that will fester for too long and then burst with disasterous results for us all, magic and no maj alike._

The post-script only confirmed his feeling that this peace was short-lived, even by Wizarding standards. 

He was about to dig for parchment and his pen when Artem slapped down a fresh roll. «Her letter was concerning, no? Write back and I'll send a raven for an international owl.» The reserve worker paused briefly and asked, «Where did you meet her?»

Newt absently answered, his response going through the Translation Charm, «During the War when I was working with Justifiat and the Greens.»

«Ah, whirlwind romance! I'm glad you have someone to look after you, even if it is from a distance, my friend.» 

Newt chuckled to himself at the thought of Artem meeting Percival. 

**Dear Percival,**

**I'm terribly sorry about my brother; he means well but sometimes it doesn't quite connect.**

**Hogwarts has a similar structure, though it surprises me not that America apparently has more schools that Ilvermorny. It's an incredibly large country and a great many Wizarding communities and cultures reside there.**

**My Hogwarts House was Hufflepuff, whose standard so happened to be a badger.**

**I'll have to warn you now, I travel quite frequently for my work and may not get your letters for sometime. Rest assured, however, that I will reply almost instantly and endeavor to send it off as soon as possible.**

**Speaking of travel, I've been in the Ukraine for the last three months and the dragons here are somehow even more fascinating than those I worked with in the unit. Their nesting habits are incredible and I only hope I get to know more before my time here is up.**

**I stand by my statement that you'd make an excellent Director. Perhaps your reputation will relax if you take your breaks outside of your awful marble office? A reminder that you're a man, not a statue and paragon of Magical Security.**

**~~I do hope that comes across as teasing.~~**

**I'm going to be properly cold and hot by the end of my trips, I'll tell you that much.**

**Regards,**

**Newt**

" _Occultatum_ ," he murmured to his own letter even as he ripped into the package with the Wampus claw. "Oh that's lovely." 

The shed claw was almost a quarter of his palm, the curve of it matching the fleshy part of his thumb. Someone (likely Percival) had strung it on a leather cord that had a sliding knot. Newt immediately pulled it on over his head, adjusting it so that it sat beneath his shirt. 

His hand curled around the cording, hesitant at first and then tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

* * *

**-Vladivostok, Russia; Zmei Sanctuary; December 13th, 1919-**

He's practically in the fire with how close he is to it, sipping kvass and soup in equal measure as his Russian compatriots watch over him. 

«Eyyy, Scamander, do you have a little doll? This is a package! The poor owl was staggering so I tucked it into my coat for now.» Aleksis ribbed as he dropped a snow-dusted package and water-proofed letter onto Newt's blanketed lap. 

He levitated his kvass and soup as he plucked at the twine of this package. Newt decrypted the letter with an absent, " _Tutum_ ," as he set his food and drink onto a Conjured table. 

_Dear Newt,_

_A little Hippogriff told me that Russian winters are hellish, to say the least. I thought I ought to send you a sweater to bundle up in._

_Zmei sound interesting, though before your letter, I'd never heard of them. Dragons with the ability to shapeshift into human approximations are a rare thing indeed, even for the Wizarding World._

_I take it that some creatures you come across will not be making it into that book of yours? The ones you write about so passionately seem to belong in a category all on their own. Those you speak of rather freely are more likely to appear in the book._

Newt snorted at the spot-on assessment of his entries in the book. Half of him was chuckling wryly while the other half was wondering if he was always so predictable and when had Percival picked up on it?

_These are merely personal observations; you could prove me wrong, not doubt, especially considering the entry you forwarded on the Bundimun._

_~~I scoured my apartment from end to end for those nasty little beasts and found a few, much to my dismay.~~_

_Your friend,_

_Percival_

_P. S. I hope you enjoy the sweater and that you get use out of it. New York is cold, certainly, but I'm sure it has nothing on Russia._

Newt gleefully ripped into this package, brown paper falling to the floor as he pulled out a solid burgundy pull-over sweater. It almost looked like the one issued to him at the unit but this one was softer and a great deal warmer when he yanked it on over his button-up. 

He shoved the sleeves up to his elbows and wallowed in it for a few moments before the scent hit him. 

It reminded him of Percival; coffee, woodsmoke and something akin to lightning—magic used often and without thought. It was accompanied by the faintest tang of whiskey, as though the sweater had been dripped on and cleaned. 

Newt repaired the paper with a flick of his wand and a non-verbal Reparo. He unwound his favorite Hufflepuff scarf from around his neck and wrapped it back in the paper. Though brief, his hesitation made him cast a Stasis Charm as well hoping against hope that it would reach Percival in the same condition it left in. 

Aleksis rose a brow at this, asking, «Sweater is from little doll?»

«I... Yes. Yes, it is.» Newt lied with a smile, «I'm sending her my scarf to keep her warm.» 

**Dear Percival,**

**A little Thestral told me you might be a little cold without a sweater so I'm sending my scarf as a replacement. Russia's incredibly cold but the company is wonderful.**

**~~You're the company I look forward to most, even with the distance between us.~~ **

Newt debated for half a second before going over the line three more times to make sure it was concealed. 

**My compatriots think you're an American Witch, which I refuse to correct because they'll never believe that I'm in contact with a friend I rescued during the War.**

**~~How selfish must I be to keep you secret like this?~~ **

**Trust me, Mummy feels the same as you when it comes to Bundimuns. I'm hoping to make it down to India by next year or spend most of it in the Gobi. They say the Re'em can be found in substantial herds there!**

**I'm also, much to my chagrin, studying the rather awful Russian Pogrebin. Nasty buggers, to say the least of them; they merit an inclusion in the book and you'll see why when I forward the entry.**

**I've also encountered a horrid creature known as a Nogtail and I've advised the Ministry as to how to effectively beat them back. Don't worry, protocols like that are forwarded to other Beast Divisions!**

**I've learned so many things in Russia alone that I filled an entire three notebooks that my Russian friends had gifted me upon arrival.**

**I had to make more ink and the Russians laughed at me when it froze. They showed me how they make theirs and now I can write easily again.**

**Your Friend,**

**Newt**

**P.S. Russia may be cold but that's no reason you should be, Percival.**

* * *

**-Deep Jungle, Kanha Park; Northern India; July 24th, 1921-**

Newt shoved his sweaty hair up and swore quietly before sticking his wand in his mouth, twisting his hair and patting around for his hairstick. 

When a glittering bronze hairstick was offered to him, he froze. 

His hands fell and his wand dropped out of his mouth as gold met blue. 

«Ssaaaa, I think that's the first time a mortal hasn't run screaming in thousands of years.» The creature chuckled, thick golden scales glinting in the light of the jungle. 

«You're a Naga.» he breathed out, immensely grateful to the creator of the Translation Charm. 

«Nagini, little magic mortal.» She corrected as she slithered around Newt's scattered notes and gathered his hair up, twisted his hair and slid in the proffered hairstick. «What are you doing so far in our territory?»

«Studying,» he croaked out, «I've been tasked to make a book about magical creatures for my employers.»

The Nagini rose a black brow at that, her sari glimmering as she settled next to him. «How many have you excluded?» 

«Many,» Newt answered this question with confidence. «Wizard-kind is never as wise as it pretends to be; case in point would be the poor Golden Snidget.»

«Yet **you** show both promise and prudence in keeping that which is not meant for mortals secret.»

«When you keep kin with dragons, you find a great deal not meant for any kind.» he quipped back, «Your Magnificence excluded, of course.» 

«Dragon Souled. I see,» she murmured thoughtfully. «Would you give me something, then, that you would keep us secret? Perhaps what is around your neck?» Newt gripped the Wampus claw through his sweaty shirt and unconsciously bared his teeth at the mere thought of giving away something Percival had given him. «Ah. A treasured item you carry close to your heart. My apologies.»

«Would... Would you take my notes on those who need to be kept secret?» He offered. 

The Nagini shook her head at that but said, «Wiser still, mortal, and a fair price for such knowledge as you have given me and mine. I grant you my name, Dragon Souled, and pray that you do not misuse it; I am Manasa.»

«Newt, in the spirit of fair exchange.» 

**Dear Percival,**

**You would not believe the encounter I had in the Kahna Park's deepest reaches; I ran into a Naga (Nagini, as she was styled)!**

**In return for my freedom, she asked for the Wampus claw you sent me a year ago. I negotiated for the entries that I wasn't going to put into the book anyway, those that Wizard-kind is not ready for and would either destroy or ruin.**

**You have proven your loyalty as a friend as I've yet to hear of any of the more dangerous entries I forwarded.**

**~~I wasn't about to give her the claw; you gave that to me.~~**

**She told me much of Naga culture, how they're known to Muggles and Magicals alike. Hiding in plain sight it seems and a rather effective strategy given their multiple talents. A Parseltongue would have been dreadfully useful, honestly, but there haven't been any in decades aside from the Gaunt family.**

**I stumbled upon a nest of Occamy eggs and, Percival, I'm afraid I took them with me in my suitcase. The mother was slain by Wizards and I scared them off with jinxes and hexes.**

**Please do not think ill of me.**

**Your Friend,**

**Newt**

" _Occultatum_."

* * *

**-Phoenix Range Basecamp; Nepal; August 2nd, 1921-**

The owl that delivered this letter gave him a sharp, rebuking peck before it ruffled its feathers and stared at him as though awaiting a reply. 

" _Tutum_." 

_Dear Newt,_

_Whilst I do **not** condone your behavior, it is entirely understandable. Occamy eggs are a rarity not often seen nor traded. If I may, what do you plan on doing with them?_

_Please refrain from such actions in the future; you gave me quite the fright at the mention of the Nagini, let alone your rogue activity in Indian jurisdiction._

_~~Auror Goldstein said I turned a shade of white she thought impossible for me to turn.~~ _

_I also apologize in the event that the MACUSA owl pecks you. She's rather fond of me and I use her often._

_Now that my scolding is out of the way... What an incredible opportunity! Even by No Maj standards, Naga tend to be a roll of the dice. You are just short of entirely ridiculous luck, my friend._

_I took your advice and began to take my breaks outside of my office. The tension when I enter a room has considerably lowered in the past few months._

_~~I find myself relieved that you didn't trade the claw.~~_

_Please, be careful and do reply soon._

_~~Love,~~ _

_Your Friend,_

_Percival_

Newt's jaw worked at the thickly scribbled line at the end, the word just barely peeking out of the dark navy ink threaded over it. "Love?" 

He scrubbed at his suddenly hot cheeks and found a spare bit of parchment he'd doodled a Wampus on. 

**Dear Percival,**

**I plan to raise them as hands-off as I can in the suitcase—once I expand it enough—and release them upon their maturity. The shells will go to the villagers nearest the Park.**

Newt inhaled a shuddering breath and wrote before he could take it back. 

**Love,**

**Newt**

He dug around for the tiny piece of Phoenix down that had landed next to his tent and pinned it to the tiny scroll of parchment with a Sticking Charm as he whispered, " _Occultatum_."

* * *

**-Near the Serengheti, Tanzania; September 29th, 1921-**

Of all the situations to find himself in, face-to-face with an injured Nundu was not one he expected. 

It snarled lowly and that was when he spotted the reason for its damage. A cub, not more that a few months old, eyes just turned gold and spitting at Newt when he approached. 

The Nundu female struggled to her feet and barred Newt from the sight of the cub. 

Newt carefully levitated a lion's kill, only a few hours old and set it in front of her as appeasement. 

When he went to back away, she growled lowly, ripped off a chunk and tossed it his way. Newt blinked at that but cleaned it to the best of his ability, scorched it with a non-verbal cooking spell and took a small bite. 

She looked at him and he took another bite, offering the rest of it to the cub. At that, her tail swiped out and dragged him close, pink nose snuffling at his sweaty light clothes and the sun hat band against his chin. 

Newt breathed deeply, calmly and she chuffed at her cub, picking it up and giving a long look at Newt, rumbling when he tried to ease away. 

"Am I to join you then?" He murmured, levitating his pack and slinging one strap over his shoulder. 

During her nap beneath a tree, Newt cleaned her wounds out with water drawn from the ground and carefully applied the same salve he'd given Percival years ago. The cub slept too, curled against his (Newt had gotten rather an eyeful of the cub's rear-end) mother's side. 

He numbed the deeper lacerations and began sewing them together with sturdy Healer's thread, the kind that would disappear when the injury was healed enough by the body. Just as he snipped the last thread, the Nundu moved, a large yellow eye tracking his moves as he put away the scissors and backed up. She slowly got up, scenting the cleaned and salved wounds before bowling Newt over with a paw. He let her, laying flat on his back as she snuffled at his hands and pack. 

With a final snort, she picked up her cub and moved again, expecting him to follow with a backwards glance.

* * *

Newt's only explaination for the Nundu adopting him was his hair, close enough to the shade of a cub's that he registered like one. 

Pillowed as he was against her flank, he saw the scout party of Wizards startle at his presence. One snuck forward and hissed, «You are in grave danger.»

«I find myself quite safe, stranger. I look enough like a cub to be accepted and tolerated. You, on the other hand, are in a danger I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. It took nearly a hundred Wizards to kill a male Nundu. I wouldn't take my chances on a female with one cub, let alone two she feels need defending.» Newt fired back in a lazy tone as the Nundu stirred at the tension. «You'd better go.»

The Wizard's eyes flicked between Newt's wand and the Nundu. «You could—»

«Leave,» Newt's soft, saccharine tone didn't disguise the threat lingering in his words. «or you will find out **exactly** what a Nundu mother is capable of when her cubs are in danger.» 

The cub shoved himself under Newt's arm and began to chew on his opposite arm, his breath not yet poisonous but the other Wizard didn't know it. 

The man fled swiftly back to the party, his panic arousing the cub's mother. She spotted the Wizard party and roared, the echo of it scattering magical and mundane beasts alike. 

She nuzzled over Newt and her cub after the party Apparated away in alarm.

* * *

He spent nearly two months with the Nundu and her cub, attempting to write his letter to Percival during the frequent cat naps of his feline companions. Newt hadn't received a letter since Nepal, which might mean any number of things. 

**Dear Percival,**

He severed the top piece of the parchment, balling it up in frustration. Several such balls lay scattered around Newt, his Severing Charm less and less precise as he cut it. 

When a letter and a package dropped into his lap after the fifteeth ball, he looked up to see an African Scops Owl, the wide eyes solemn in the small face. It waited, much the same as the MACUSA owl had, meaning it wanted a response. 

" _Tutum_." 

He opened it with trembling fingers. 

_Dear Newt,_

_Depite the length between my letters, I am not angry with you nor am I so foolish as to assume you are not worried._

_I started this letter a great many times, hoping that each iteration would make clear my thoughts. We have known each other for years now and I should have expected to become closer still as the years past._

_When your letter arrived, short as it was, I found myself contemplating the nature of our friendship. Was it close enough to use such terms? I knew it was closer to the anniversary of our meeting, some four years ago, than I suspected and wondered no more. I suppose some of your ridiculous luck rubbed off onto me that day you carried me dragon back to the Healer's tent._

_You are my dearest friend and if you have no problem with the endearment then neither shall I._

_I approve of your strategy, by the way; raise the Occamies as well as you can, Newt._

_With love,_

_Percival_

_P. S. I sincerely hope this arrives before Novemeber. Thank you for the Phoenix down, I've used it to make sure my mug is always warm._

He hadn't said what was in the package but Newt ripped into it anyway, surprised to find another Wampus claw, this one a whole bone rather than the shell of keratin the first one had been. 

_~You can use the shell as you wish. I found this one some months ago during a raid of Class A Untradeable Goods and well, I'll have you know you are a **terrible** influence. I had this one checked for curses and any lingering spirits but none were found.~_

This one was also threaded with a cord, the bone much thicker and more solid. Newt pulled the older Wampus shell over his head and tucked it into his exchanging goods pouch. Situating the claw took the work of moments, the tip settling over his sternum as though it had always been there.

 **Dear Percival,**

**Your letter arrived some time in October, if you were wondering. I'm currently in the Serengheti, traveling with a Nundu and her cub.**

**~~I can hear you now, yelling about how my ability and my luck can only stretch so far.~~**

**Did you know that Re'em and Erumpents travel in entirely different ways even though they're both herbivores? To top it off, I've only found a juvenile male as the sole set of males I encountered killed each other shortly after meeting!**

**I can tell that keeping the species going may well end up the future task of Wizards and Witches alike.**

**I may or may not have picked up an orphaned Erumpent. She's sweet if somewhat destructive so I've had to replace my suitcase twice since she collapsed the Undetectable Extension Charm.**

**I don't suppose you know of a particularly sturdy suitcase?**

**The cub wants to play with my parchment so I'll have to finish this and send it off with the owl.**

**Love,**

**Newt**

**P. S. While I know this won't reach you in time for the anniversary of our meeting —**

Newt squawked as the Nundu cub took off with the letter in his mouth. 

"Get back here you little—Ah-ha!" Newt trapped the cub with his legs and ignored the cub chewing on his calf to smoothe out the letter's bottom third. 

**I hope you have an excellent day of it. My next point of travel is China.**

He folded it, sealed it with abandon and encrypted it with a laughing, " _Occultatum_!" as he fended off the energetic cub. 

The owl snatched it from his offering fingers with an offended hoot and took off before the Nundu cub could jump for it.

* * *

**-Zhangye Danxia Wizarding Community, Northern China; Study of Chinese Fireballs, Lungs & Kirin; April 23rd, 1922-**

Newt was reading over Percival's short note, re-reading it again as if to make up for the fact that it was incredibly short. 

_Dear Newt,_

_Am heavily traveling for work. Apologies for small notes instead of letters._

_Love_

_Percival_

He turned it over to find only his name on the back side of the scrap of parchment. It was the fourth such note in a series in the past few months, worrying Newt to no end save for the fact that they kept coming.

Newt shrugged, tucked the note away in the same place as all of his letters from Percival, and continued to sketch the sleeping Kirin in front of him, the golden whiskers twitching every now and again as his hand swept over the page illustration in pencil first.

He chewed on his wand handle out of habit, the end of it swaying as he contemplated his subject.

"Majestic creatures, are they not?" Percival's soft drawl had Newt dropping his pencil, his wand and his sketch board. He snatched his wand out of the air, lurched to his feet and tackled Percival when he reached him.

Percival grunted as he went down, Newt casting a Cushioning Charm at the last moment so they bounced instead of hitting the ground.

Newt's nose ended up crushed against Percival's sweater and he inhaled instinctively. Coffee, woodsmoke and whiskey with a hint of ink flooded his senses and he heard Percival's breath stutter as he also inhaled.

He shoved the thought aside as he managed to sit up, his hands planted next to Percival's shoulders as he said, "I'm sorry about that, it's been absolute _ages_ since we've seen one another."

"I haven't been greeted like that since I ran into you in London," Percival rumbled even as he blew at the mixed silver-and-black strands that had escaped his carefully-gelled hair. "You're wearing my sweater."

"You're wearing my scarf." Newt laughed, tweaking the ends of the tassels as he tugged Percival into sitting upright, their shoulders pressed together as they watched the Kirin herd settle back down after the commotion Newt'd caused. "Wait a Golden Snidget, were you traveling?!" The crinkling corners of Percival's eyes told enough of the story that Newt shook his head. "The notes were so short because you were writing them at your stops and continuing onward to come see me, weren't they?"

"I _was_ working. I have so many months of leave built up that they let me travel afterwards. I believe I heard Madame President yelling at me to go all the way to Russia and not come back until she was sick of looking at my temporary replacement. It's not quite Russia but..." Percival's roguishly brilliant smile coaxed Newt's own, both of them grinning until the Kirin herd moved to investigate the sketch board.

The problem?

_Investigating with their omnivorous teeth._

"Oi, get away from that you overgrown deer!"

" _Accio_ board. Are you or are you not a Wizard, Newt?"

"Well, you, I–Oh for Merlin's sake, give me that and stop laughing!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	4. A Wampus Returns to the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've learned so many things writing this fic and I've read that tiny book front-to-back looking for magical creatures to dump into this. 
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

****

IV.

* * *

**-Gobi Desert, Southern Mongolia; Newt's Yurt; September 1st, 1922-**

After herding domestic Re'em with the locals all day, Newt's exhausted, sore and _tired_ in that order. All he wanted was a hot bath, a decently warm meal and to sleep until morning. 

What he got, however, was more than welcome in his yurt. 

Percival chuffed at his arms, dark eyes snapping up and looking like a kicked Crup as he spotted Newt. 

Snow dusted his shoulders, his black-n-silver hair and it was melting into the sturdy fabric of Percival's coat. Newt added more wood to the stove and absently stirred the hearty stew that had been slow-cooking for hours. 

"Percival! Sit, sit, get those wet things off of you-" Percival's face in his fur collar took him by surprise even as he enfolded his friend in a hug. "May I ask or is it something you'd prefer to leave behind?" 

"I was apparently _not_ supposed to go back after three months of rest." came the wry drawl as Percival tried to bury himself in Newt's traditional Mongolian clothing. 

"Well, I'm incredibly tired but you're more than welcome to join me for dinner and sleep. We can play catch up in the morning." 

The best three months of Newt's entire year, honestly, and Percival was apologizing for being back? No, no, that simply wouldn't _stand_ in his yurt. Newt took a scolding and incredibly short bath so that Percival could soak and warm up behind the privacy screen. 

They sat side-by-side, Percival's sleeves shoved up because Newt's clothing was a little long in the arm for the other man. They ate in near perfect silence, the clink of spoons in bowls accompanied by twin sighs of enjoyment. 

"I'll take the floor-" 

"I've got dibs on—Percival, you've been traveling for Merlin-knows-how long! You're taking the bed." Newt argued fiercely as he shook his soapy spoon at his friend. 

Percival's jaw set like he was preparing to take down an enemy. "I'll not kick you out of your own bed when you're clearly exhausted, Newt." 

He dried a bowl with more fierceness than required of the task.

"Then we'll share," Newt blurted, the words out before he could even _think_ about taking them back. "It's big enough for two grown men." 

"Expansion Charm?" 

Both of them looked at their wands, looked at the bed and scoffed in unison. 

"We'll just have to pile on the blankets and share body heat." 

"Most practical, Newt." 

"Likewise, Percival."

* * *

Newt blew out the candle and suddenly felt the heat Percival was putting off against his back. 

"Ah, Per-Percival?" He chattered out. 

"Yes Newt?" 

"I d-don't think b-back—" He turned, buried his cold nose against the back of Percival's neck and gave a faint chuckle at the indignant noise that followed. 

"Newt-Oh. Oh this is much nicer." 

Within moments, it seemed, the heat had Newt drowsy. He wrapped an arm around Percival and sighed as he slipped into dreaming.

* * *

Newt snuggled deeper into his bed, cracking open an eye when he realized he was holding something. He looked down and nearly shrieked before the events of the night prior came rushing back in. 

Percival's arrival, the pleasant time spent... 

He glanced back down at Percival's peaceful expression, inky strands splayed with silver, the stubbled cheek mashed against his collarbone. Newt stroked the fluffy strands back into place, huffing softly when Percival leaned into his touch. 

When the sunlight poured over the bed like liquid gold, Percival's nose scrunched as it hit his face. 

"Hmm-mm. I'm not working." Percival mumbled as he rubbed his cheek into Newt's chest. Newt let out a quiet breath, surprised at the wave of fondness that followed. When Percival cracked open one dark eye, he didn't flinch at the sight of Newt. "You know, the last time I slept this deeply I was also in your tent." 

"Are you sure you haven't got a bit of dragon in you too?" 

Percival muffled his laughter against Newt's chest, broad shoulders shaking as he looked up again with amusement sparkling in his dark eyes. 

"No, no dragon. Wampus, maybe, but no dragon." He teased gently, reaching up with a sleep-warm arm to stroke at Newt's bed head. 

"Sadly your hands won't work as a brush. We'll have to get out of bed." 

"Must we?" 

"There's tea and toast and sausages in it for you." Newt reminded him as he wiggled out of Percival's reach and then his feet hit the cold flooring instead of the carpet that was supposed to be there. "Yeek!" 

"Let me guess; you hit the floor?" Percival murmured from the pile of blankets. 

"Shut it you." Newt grumbled, flopping back onto the bed briefly before he heard a knock on his yurt door. He Summoned his furred slippers with a lazy wave of his wand and shuffled over to the door after pulling on a sweater that was on hand. «Yes?»

«Why is there a floating tether and saddle?» The child asked politely. Her parents noticed his eyes flick over to the loose saddle, which was very much filled by a blanketed Thestral. 

Another was hobbled next to it, saddle hoared by frost and off of it, covered in what looked like another blanket made of Demiguise hair. 

The parents could see them, Newt could see them but likely none of the younger children could and Newt would wish on no one the reason he was seeing them. 

«Well, it's a Magical Beast for grown-ups. If you can see one, then I would be very sad for you.» Newt worded it carefully, trying to tiptoe around the why of it. 

«Will I see it when I get older?»

«I certainly hope not.»

She was quiet for a moment, looked from her parent's serious expression to Newt's and asked, «Can I feed it?»

Newt breathed a sigh of relief, «Of course. You'll need meat though.»

«Mama, can we? Can we please?»

Her mother shook her head but replied, «Come on then, let's get some meat for it.»

With the child gone, the father turned to Newt with a solemn expression. «How do you see it?»

«Death. It appears to those who have witnessed a death, but most often that of a loved one. They're peaceful but it is not something I would want a child to see.» Newt replied. «However, they are good riding animals so my friend and I will be using them today.»

«Ah, the man who stood outside of your yurt before I told him to go in.»

«He's too polite sometimes so thank you for telling him that. I think I can get you Re'em blood but its going to take a lot of Stunning and two or three herding dogs.»

«Without killing it?»

«I hope so.»

* * *

It turned out that Thestrals were perfect for separating a Re'em from the herd, their appearance one that shocked the other magical beast into stillness. 

«Stun it now!» Several streaks of red were followed by several more and the Re'em lowed as it swayed. «Again!»

Like a volley of arrows from the Golden Horde, the Stunning spells hit their mark. 

«Dogs, please!» Two dogs darted forward and siezed the ears of the massive golden ox, Newt skidding under it with a full pack of syringes he'd bought the year prior. He worked quickly, taking a vial at a time and making sure it wasn't losing its pulse with a carefully modified Healer's charm. 

Newt swung up on his Thestral, made the hand signal and the dogs let go of the Re'em. It charged at the Thestral and his mount snarled, showing the curved canines of a predator. It lowed again and tucked its head under to ready for another charge. 

Newt kneed his Thestral and took off into the air, the beat of leathery wings too much for the beleaguered Re'em. It took off towards the herd, joining the golden mass of Re'em again with minimal fuss. 

He soothed his mount and landed next to Percival, dirt and grass clinging to his pants and shirt. 

«I've got it!» The herdsman gathered around and blinked at the full vials of blood. «I can give you the design and you can Transfigure them out of nearly any metal and sand. I've put a Stasis Charm on them and so long as you boil them to keep them clean—Oof!» 

«Thank you!» the men chorused as they enveloped him and Percival in a group hug. «How many times can we do this?»

«I... Well, I wouldn't do more than one a day. It stresses the herd and might affect the blood.»

«Every few days then. The animals are too wary now to attempt it again.» came the shrewd and well-thought reply as the hug broke up. «We need to tag the one that was already drained so that we do not drain the same one twice.»

«Perhaps a Color-Changing Charm on one ear?» Percival suggested as he fed his mount chunks of goat meat. 

«I like your friend.»

«He's a good friend.» Newt replied absently. 

Percival chuckled at that, turning to Newt's mount and feeding the Thestral the other handful of meat. «I'm glad you think so.»

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	5. A Dragon Comes to the Wampus Den

* * *

****

V.

* * *

**-The Magical Congress of the United States of America; Magical Creatures Department, Beast Division, Permit Office; March 4th, 1924-**

"Anyone who can vouch for your expertise here in the United States?" 

"The Director of Magical Security." Newt promptly replied. 

"Director Graves? As in Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement here at MACUSA?" The Auror's incredulous tone had Newt scowling at the woman across from him. 

"Yes, _that_ Director Graves. He would be more than willing to vouch for me." He said stiffly, miffed at the thought of Percival _not knowing him_.

A memo paper zipped off in the form of a glider at a flick from her wand. 

Both of them sat in an increasingly awkward silence that was broken by the arrival of strong footsteps. 

Footsteps that Newt knew as intimately as his own, followed by, "Auror Goldstein, what's this about a magizoologist permit—? Mr. Scamander is an accomplished magizoologist and an old friend of mine. Please treat him as well as you would me."

Percival's dark robes only highlighted his sharp features, the image softened by a familiar scarf with grey and marigold stripes. His friend looked down solemnly before he asked, "I trust you'll swing by my office, Mr. Scamander?" 

"Of course, Director Graves." Newt answered as he beamed up at Percival. The smile he got in reply brought on a wave of coughing and hacked up coffee. 

"How, in Morgana's name, are you friends?!" Auror Goldstein questioned him lowly after Percival left. She lifted her head as if Percival had heard her before ducking back down to pin him with a searching look. 

"We met during the War," He responded absently as he filled out more paperwork. "I picked him up out of what was left of the Second Battle of Passchendaele. Dragonback, of course, since the Retention unit was on search and rescue. I'm not sure why you're surprised; he's a wonderful conversationalist." 

"Wait, wait, _you picked him up dragonback_? As in, on a dragon's back?" She mouthed 'conversationalist' as if in disbelief. 

"Well, yes, but what does that have to do with my permit?" Newt inquired as he signed the last of the exhaustive paperwork. 

"Nothing. Nothing at all." 

"Oh. Alright. Could you point me towards Director Graves's office then? I've finished." 

"... Down the hall, hook two rights and a left. Look for the big black doors." 

"Thank you~" Newt said over his shoulder, hitching his suitcase up without any effort.

* * *

He stood before the enormous black doors and gently knocked, getting odd looks from MACUSA personnel as he knocked again. 

Percival emerged, looking faintly irritated and the MACUSA staff all inhaled sharply when he turned his dark gaze to Newt's hopeful expression. "Done already, Mr. Scamander?" 

"You wouldn't believe it but the Beast Division back home is much worse, Director." He laughed, tapping the trusty fountain pen in his pocket. "Besides, quills are outdated and this is much faster." 

"Hnn. Let me get my coat." He paused, looked at the staff lingering and murmured, "You'd better come inside." 

Newt heard gasping at that, darting through the doors before he could hear anything else. When the doors closed, Percival's incredibly tense shoulders relaxed. "Why, in Merlin's name, does everyone have an expression of utter disbelief when I say we're friends?" 

"As I said, I keep my relationships here professional because if I do anything untoward or something that can be seen as scandalous..." Percival snorted as he sorted his paperwork with a flick of his wand. "Please excuse my mess, it's rare that anyone aside from myself is here." 

"You're a Graves and that means terrible consequences. No, no, you're perfectly neat; you should see the state of my suitcase." Newt countered as he took in the overtly spacious office. Percival's knick-knacks piled up next to the cup from Fortescue's, the Hippogriff feather, the lump of Re'em horn from their time in Mongolia, the clipping of Kirin fur and the hairstick Newt had been given by the Nagini. All but—"Are you wearing the dewclaw?" 

"Hmm? Oh, yes, the one from the Hebridean Black you named in the War. It's too small to display and I don't want to lose it so," Percival pulled up the leather cording Newt had threaded it with in the hopes of his friend wearing it, the thick dragon's claw dangling just above Percival's open shirt. "I wear it." 

He dropped it, buttoning up his shirt and tying the tie back up with another lazy flick of his wand. 

Newt felt warm, unreasonably so, in the austere office. 

"I've got your Wampus claw," He offered as he tapped it gently with two fingers, "here." Percival slowly pulled on his coat, dark eyes full of something Newt swore was affection, reserved as his friend was in such manners. "I don't carry much but what I do carry is important." 

"Including that suitcase you're carrying." Percival teased, having sent it as a gift via three disgruntled owls in Madagascar. "How are the enchantments holding up? I worked as much as I could into it." 

"So far, so good, though I do worry about the latches." He admitted with a shrug. 

"A problem for the future, I think, and time for a break I don't have to take in my office." Percival offered in the spirit of compromise. They walked out together and Percival's expression went from open and soft to harsh and unyielding in less time than it took for the clock to tick forward a second. 

The transformation was astonishing and horribly enlightening at the same time; Percival wasn't allowed to be a _person_ here, only a professional. As Newt himself once put it, "A statue and paragon of Magical Law Enforcement." The way Percival had spoken about his position struck home in a terrible realization on Newt's part. 

He slung an arm around around Percival's shoulders and tweaked the scarf, the shade of relief in his best friend's eyes more than enough encouragement. "So, is my scarf still keeping you warm on absurdly cold New York days?" 

"Should I ask the same of my sweater or has it been eaten by some gooey creature of the deep from Borneo?" came the amused reply. 

"Why I never—Such dishonor on you and your Thestrals, sir! That sweater is a delight and I'm not giving it back if you gave me a hundred, no, a thousand Galleons right here and now." Newt said in mock offense, the smile tugging at his lips signaling that it's all in good fun. "Shame on you, that sweater's reserved for Russia and you know it." 

Percival glanced down, realized Newt was wearing the black sweater he'd stolen in Mongolia, and rose a brow. "Perhaps I should arrest you for sweater theft. I looked everywhere for that sweater, only to find you'd pilfered it amongst your own belongings." 

"You're lucky I didn't snatch more on our trip through China. I was the one doing laundry, remember?" He pointed out as they left MACUSA through a side-exit. He squinted at Percival's shirt and then, "Sweater theft may be amongst my crimes but _that_ is my shirt. How did you even get it?" 

"First night in Mongolia," Percival replied as he looked both ways before crossing the busy street. "and you never asked me to return it." The way the black and silver glimmered in the weak spring sun made Newt do a double take, thankfully subtle as Percival glanced up. "Something in my hair?" 

"Ah, no. I thought perhaps there might be but it's only a stray sunbeam." Newt smiled as he deflected, wondering exactly _when_ he'd started noticing the way Percival's shoulders were broader than his and how they stretched the fabric that crossed them. 

Had it been Mongolia? China? The two months spent in the depths of Eastern Kazahkstan?

They arrived at a place unfamiliar to Newt and he turned to Percival for an explaination. 

"It's a lunch car, though I suppose it equates with the Café in London, save that this is run by..." Silver hair, styled into finger waves, passed them with a coffee pot levitating behind her. 

Only one being fit that description.

"Veela. Is she half or...?" 

"I'll have you know it rude to ask." she stated in a clipped tone. The charmed tag read 'Greta', floating just under her collarbone but turning with her as she moved. 

"My apologies; European Veela get upset when you assume status." Newt sketched out a bow and she gave a nod in return. "This set-up is fascinating." Percival guided him into a booth, Newt's gaze taking it all in. "Is it Muggle-ah, sorry-No-Maj based? I could swear it looks more a train compartment than a food establishment." 

"Well, in that case, you're forgiven. It used to be a train idea but it's kinda the Erumpent's ankle around here for Wizards. Most of my customers are MACUSA fellas and dolls. I take it you want your usual?" Greta asked Percival and then turned to Newt. "Do you want a menu, honey?" 

"If its not too much trouble, I'll take what he's ordering." Newt replied easily. 

"That'd be scrambled eggs, bacon and three slices of toast with coffee. That what you're after?" Greta offered. 

"Sounds good, Ms. Greta." 

"It's Mrs., actually, but Greta'll get my attention faster. I like your friend, Mr. Graves." 

Done with inspecting the lunch car, Newt didn't miss how enclosed they were in the booth, his legs tangled with Percival's under the table. 

Had Percival always been so warm? 

"I've gotten letters but I know you leave things out. How was your trip to South America?" Percival questioned as he flicked up another minor Ward. 

"I did leave out some things. I ran into a river god* there. Highly intelligent and revered by locals because he heals their wounds for them in exchange for freshly-caught fish. Not only is he not going in the book, I burnt my notes in regards to him. Magic or no magic, he's not to be documented like..." Newt trailed off, searching for the right words. 

"Like a creature instead of what he is?" Percival murmured. 

"Exactly. I ran into more magical creatures down there, including something that they sell to North America; something about how they make a good warning against dang–" 

" _Clabberts_." Percival hissed irritably at the mention of them. "We have to have a branch of MACUSA down in Atlanta because they have an infestation of them in the South. We're petitioning the International Confederation to start fining for owning one, let alone several." 

Newt laughed as Greta dropped by with a single mug, Percival pulling the Fortescue's cup out of his volumous inner coat pockets. "It looks like our professions cross even when we're not together. I won't be needing one either, thank you." 

"Why do you bring your own mug to a lunch car? I have perfectly good ones right here." She complained. 

"Hmm. You can't tell anyone else but these are charmed to retain heat through the use of Phoenix down." Newt volunteered and she blinked at that. 

"Phoenix down? Huh. I might know a guy. How is it you two know each other anyways?" Greta asked as she levitated their food down. 

"The War," they answered as the coffee poured into their mugs. Newt poured cream and sugar in until it turned caramel colored. 

"You're a limey? Really?" Greta leaned on the table and looked between them. "Don't tell me you two are friends cause of that ol dust-up?" 

"He saved my life." Percival admitted as he tucked into his food. 

"Says the man who saved my life while we were in China." Newt snorted around his mouthful of toast. 

"Swallow your toast please. It's not a competition, Newt, and yes, we're friends because of it." 

"He'd sent me a letter after the War, you see-" 

"- _really now_ , it was the politest way I knew to get your attention-" Percival protested. 

"-asking if I'd like to remain friends. We'd met again in London, thanks to the crowd and must've talked, what?" 

"Hours. I would've spent most of the day if the owner hadn't glared us out of the door." 

"Entirely mutual even if it seems like Percival's—what was that term again? Ah.—a killjoy to my...?" Newt paused, still getting used to American slang. 

"You're definitely a bunny, honey. Deer-in-the-lights sorta look to you." Greta finished with a shake of her head. "I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need any more coffee." 

Percival shook his head and continued eating, not saying a word about the way their legs had tangled further yet. 

Oh dear Merlin but what had Newt done to be struck by such awful knowledge? The flashed smiles, the way Percival concentrated on whomever he was speaking with, how his hands flexed minutely around his cutlery every time someone new entered the lunch car. 

"Is something wrong, Newt?" The concern made him nearly yelp his response. 

"No! No, everything's fine. I'm just... taking you in, I suppose. It's been a while." 

"You've finally grown into your hands." The mirth that spread from his words to his eyes made Newt melt a little inside. 

"Again with the colt thing, Percival, I swear to-Oh, I see. You're poking fun." Newt stumbled a bit but recovered quickly. "Tell me about your morning?" 

"I'd rather not; I'd end up insulting half the Congress if I let loose, my friend." came the reply. Newt flicked up his own layering on the minor Ward and made a motion. "Very well, if you insist..."

* * *

Newt was still laughing as they left Greta's lunch car. "Oh, that is absolutely golden!" 

Percival shook his head and replied, "I'm sure your work has something similar." 

"It does but that's bureaucrats for you, Percival." Newt reminded him. Percival scowled at the reminder but brightened as he spotted a bridge. 

"May I show you New York?" 

"I wasn't a very good tour guide for London! We got lost more than once, honestly–" Newt spluttered helplessly. 

"Newt, I'm surprised we managed to get _anywhere_ with how full the streets were that day." he replied. "Would you like a tour of the city I live in or not?" 

Percival offered his hand and Newt took it, privately marveling that Percival's fingers laced with his so neatly. 

They wove through the Markets, a rich mix of creatures and full Fae, Wizards and Witches and the occasional Warlock. Newt tugged Percival this way and that, asking questions that most were happy to answer. 

Percival left him at the drinks kiosk with the explanation that he had a gift to get for the MACUSA exchange on Imbolc. 

Newt found himself sharing the standing table with a full Fae. He gave a courtesy bow, stirring his mug with a contemplative frown. 

"A Wizard that knows our conventions but does not offer conversation." came the pointed question-yet-not. 

"I'm terribly sorry but my mind is elsewhere." Newt sighed as he looked at his table companion. 

"You look like you've eaten a full spoon of Glumbumble honey." The soft black eyes looked him over and then, "You've got a love problem, no?" 

"I'm not dignifying that with an answer, Leanan Sídhe**." Newt swiftly countered. 

The Sídhe clucked their tongue and shifted just enough to slide more towards female. "I'm trying to help." 

Mama had warned him of full Fae, so what she got was, "A favor that I'll have to repay at some point of your choosing. No thank you." 

The second shift was to male, the soft eyes now stern as he hissed, "I can feel your misery for a good five kilometers and it is going to drive me _Underhill_ if I don't **fix** it. I'm helping myself by helping you, Dragon Souled; not all of us are the predators your blood warned you against." 

"It's not a problem," he admitted after casting Muffilato, "more an inconvenience." 

"How so?" 

"We're friends but today... Today feels as though I'm noticing him the right way for all the wrong reasons." Newt sighed as he stirred the mug again. "When we meet, our conversations are deep and wonderful and I don't want them to end." 

"I see," the Sídhe murmured, "and how often have you met?" 

"This would be the fifth." 

The jet gaze narrowed at his words and then clucked his tongue, "You humans and your social conventions. A connection like that is beyond mortal comprehension most of the time, an event that happens but once in your short lives. Grab it with both hands, whatever the relationship, and do not release it." 

"New— _ **Get away from him**_." Percival actually snarled, wand pressed under the Sídhe's chin and tucking Newt against his side in a move so swift and coordinated that it happened in seconds, outer robes snapping as they flared. "Are you alright?" He inquired as he kept his eyes on the Leanan Sídhe. 

"I'm perfectly alright." At Percival's disbelieving glance, he added, "We were talking about friendships. No names or anything but enough, I suppose, to go on." 

"... Very well." He removed the wand, gave a full bow to the Sídhe, and said stiffly, "My apologies, illustrious Leanan Sídhe, he's of the habit of befriending many beings and some that are not good for him." 

"There's nothing _wrong_ with Grace-" Newt indignantly defended. 

"The **Nundu**. You named a Nundu and she somehow _tolerates_ you." Percival grumbled out. "As you can see, very friendly." 

The Sídhe was chuckling behind his hand at this point, shaking his head as he said, "Remember what I said, little dragon. Both hands."

* * *

"What did he mean, Newt?" Percival asked after he escorted Newt back into his office. 

"He told me our friendship was something to be cherished." 

"A Leanan Sídhe told you that? A Fae specifically attracted to love or love-related things?" Percival prodded. 

"Yes, yes, he did." Newt's shoulders stiffened but he held to it. 

"Newt, please, tell me _what is going on_. You're worrying me—" 

The fire that had been banking in Newt's chest since this morning exploded, likely taking his sole friendship outside of his family with it. 

"I love you! Alright?! I can't stop thinking about how I wanted to stay in Mongolia and watch you wake up in my arms, how we got chased by irate Lungs and we laughed it about until our knees were weak and how much I wanted to push back those stupid strands that fall in your face when you mess with it! I sent that dewclaw so that you'd always think of me—" 

Newt slapped both hands over his mouth, having never spoken that last sentence out loud before. 

Judging by Percival's pole-axed expression, he hadn't considered that as an option amongst Newt's problems. 

"I have to go." 

"Please don't," Percival said hoarsely from behind his desk, leaning on it. "I sent the Wampus claw so that part of me would rest over your heart." 

Newt dropped his suitcase, vaulted over the desk and slammed into Percival with both of them ending up a tangle of limbs. When he braced for impact, déjà vu sprang to mind as Percival's hand cradled the back of his head. Newt looked up into familiar if somewhat unsure dark eyes and then pressed his forehead briefly to Percival's in reassurance. 

"What did the Leanan Sídhe really say, Newt?" Percival fumbled with Newt's tie and tugged his shirt to see the Wampus claw that rested over his heart. 

"That, hah, that we had a once-in-a-lifetime connection. That I should hold onto you with both hands because I'd never find anyone like you again." Newt did the same with shaking hands, the ebony dewclaw tangling with the ivory of the bone. 

Percival's black-n-silver strands spilled over, his open affection intoxicating as they let their hands roam above the waist. "I thought you would want someone younger, someone to grow with-"

"How could I when I was all wrapped up in you?" He breathed out, gripping the dewclaw to draw Percival into a heated first kiss. "Every other thought turned to you if not my book, how you might take each entry, if you wore my scarf as often as I wore your sweater when it got cold." 

"Every chance I've had since I received a surprise package from Russia. No one's said anything but I would've hexed the first person to touch it if it hadn't been you." Percival confessed as he nipped just below Newt's shirt collar. "I want to mark you, show that you chose me as much as I chose you. Would you want them?" 

"Yours to mark, Percival." He tilted his throat back for more access, sighing as Percival rumbled against it. 

"It's... 'Val, for the people I love." 

Newt threaded his fingers through thick, rich dark-n-silver hair, holding Percival close to his chest. "Just, hnn, just between us, alright?"

* * *

No one commented on the fact that Director Graves had taken an awfully long lunch break for the first time in years, thanks in part to a British war hero. Madame President Piquery cracked a full smile in Congress when she heard the news. 

Most of MACUSA's staff wondered if they could lure Sgt. Scamander back to visit.

* * *

**-Clarity Thunderbird Park; Near Kent, Connecticut; March 9th, 1924-**

Newt spent his research week in New York and as many places as a Portkey could take him and Percival to within the United States for an hour and a half of break. 

Chasing a sub-species of northern thunderbirds on Thestral-back became the highlight of his week, both of them stopping every so often to pull one another into kisses. They had four years of unspoken tension to catch up on, according to Percival. 

Newt thought it was closer to five, considering the absolute mountains of letters they'd sent to one another. He reigned in Persephone, weaned of her second foal and ready to be ridden again, watching the smaller thunderbird species chase falcons for the fun of it. 

Percival rode up on Hades, both of them with wild hair and delighted airs. 

Newt would be sorry to leave but eager to meet his love again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect. 
> 
> *The Shape of Water reference 
> 
> **leannan sìth in Scottish Gaelic; a type of Fae that is often associated with love and muses


	6. A Dragon's Fury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this isn't quite the end of the fic, I've had fun writing it and tossing ideas back and forth with the friend it's for makes me crack a smile. 
> 
> Enjoy with caution~

* * *

****

+I.

* * *

**-In-Processing on Ellis Island, New York Harbor; December 1st, 1926-**

With a solemn expression, Newt and his suitcase passed inspection before he boarded the ferry to New York. 

He tugged the Wampus claw out of his shirt, the ivory bone still dark in places where Percival's dewclaw had caught it their first night together. Spinning it between his fingers resulted in tangled thoughts so he tucked it away again. 

Percival's letters were regular, for the most part, spaced to wait for Newt's replies but the last few months, they'd been missing. As in, Percival had apparently forgotten he existed; Mama had tried to explain it away as Percival loosing interest, his Father that Percival was extremely busy with this Grindlewald business. Theseus however, had told Newt to go with his gut feeling. 

Newt knew _something_ was wrong but not what and he was going to dig to the bottom of it. 

He'd start at Greta's, getting both a good meal and information at the same time. 

Greta ushered him into a corner booth, threw up strong Wards and pinned him with a searching look. "Mr. Graves hasn't been by, before you ask. He stopped comin' in sometime in June and he took my cup the last time he was here." 

"... Thank you, Greta. I fear there might be something nasty afoot if he's not acting normally. He's stopped sending letters." Newt sighed, scraping his hands through his hair and blowing out a frustrated breath. 

Hazel eyes softened in sympathy, patting his shoulder as she dismantled the Wards. "Meal's on the house, just this once Mr. Scamander." 

Her expression said, _I hope you can fix this._

* * *

He didn't head for MACUSA, not after Greta's information, and he took a walk in the city out of habit. Being in a crowd but not helped his thinking even as he worried. 

A tug, deep within, had his head snapping up. Newt had felt it only twice before, buried in the sands of Sudan and Yemen. 

An anguished cry for the freedom that no Dragon Heart could ignore; an _Obscurus_. In New York City. 

**_How?_**

More importantly, could he save this one and figure out what had happened to Percival at the same time? Newt followed the tug, turning this way and that before standing in a crowd of curious on-lookers. A wordless Glamour spell over his bowtie and a white collar stood in its place. 

"What brought you here to our meeting sir?" 

"Ah, a... job, madam." He looked at the Obscurial, noted the flinch when she spoke and continued. "I seek an assistant and you've the right man for the job, so to speak." Newt motioned at the young man holding the flag with his case, patted it lightly and inquired politely, "Would you mind if we spoke elsewhere?" 

"I... I suppose so," she hesitated briefly enough that Newt shamelessly took advantage of the rather public situation. 

"The Lord works in mysterious ways, madam," A phrase not from his world, no, but one that she knew and would trust. "and I've precious time." 

"If you'll excuse us," she politely told the crowd. "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, sir." 

"Father Scamander. Might I have your name, good sister?" 

"Mrs. Barebone. What is it you need my son for?" 

"I'm a British missionary and I've been in need of an assistant for sometime now. I travel frequently, however, and need someone to order my affairs as I go. Your son can read and write, as all proper Christians do, yes?" Much as it sickened Newt to take on the personality of the missionaries he'd seen Africa, it was his best bet in getting the young man to come with him. 

"Credence's penmanship is acceptable and he reads well. You would... You would maintain a moral standard?" 

"Of course, Mrs. Barebone. Fire and brimstone are the just reward if one does not strive to live up to the Commandments." He lied with a pleasant smile. "Credence, was it? May I know the names of your daughters?" 

"Chastity and Modesty." 

"A paragon of virtues amongst your children, Mrs. Barebone. He will be paid for his work, of course, and I will provide his board." Newt explained briefly. "I will need to take him with me, of course, to explain my mission. I trust he can lead me to your humble abode." 

"So soon?" 

"The mission is paramount, Mrs. Barebone. I set off for the Far East the week after my stay here. As I said, I've little time and what I have must be used prudently." 

"... Very well; Credence, mind Father Scamander and come home when you can." She dug her nails into Credence's drab sweater as if to make the message sink in. 

"Yes, Mother." Credence ducked his head and shuffled over to Newt's suitcase, picking it up gingerly. 

"May The Lord bless your deeds, Mrs. Barebone, young ladies." Newt gave a respectful nod and turned on his heel, practically marching at a pace that would do his unit proud. "Mr. Barebone, come along."

* * *

Thankful that he'd reserved a Muggle accommodation, he unlocked the room and let Credence through. He locked it with the key and then let the Glamour fade, watching for Credence's reaction. 

"Do you know Mr. Graves?" 

Newt's jaw worked and he gave a faint smile. "Mr. Graves is a good friend." 

"Do you know the child he's searching for?" 

Percival wouldn't need a child. 

"Credence, he seeks you." 

A Wizard who had been steadily driving Europe's Aurors mad, however, with his lack of activity...

"No, he said—" There it was, the white branching over his eyes. 

"A child of around Modesty's age, somewhere between eight and ten?" Newt cut in sourly, remembering soft brown eyes that had been relieved to see magic burst from the tip of Newt's wand. 

"How-" 

"Magic is more than he showed you. That is also _not_ the Mr. Graves I know; I'm afraid he's got a rather good impersonator." Newt sighed as he flicked up his Wards with a wave of his wand. 

"How, in the name of The Lord, did you get me away from my Mother?" Credence questioned, even as he flinched away from Newt, the white fading from his irises. "What do you mean Mr. Graves has a good impersonator?" 

"I run across missionaries quite frequently in my true line of work. I didn't so much lie as fail to fill in the gaps that she assumed. Mr. Graves and I have known each other for nearly a decade now and he would never seek out a child without good reason." 

"... A decade." 

"I saved his life in the War." He offered as he hung up his coat, flicking his wand to start the kettle with water on the stove. He shoved it into the forearm sheath as he rolled his sleeves up. 

"That would mean you're..." 

"I'm in my early thirties, yes; Mr. Graves is mid-forties. Magic does quite a lot and it extends our lives as well." Newt absently answered as he physically removed the suitcase from Credence's limp hands. 

The scars made Newt clench his jaw. 

"I don't mean to be invasive, Credence, but did your...Mother give those to you?" Credence looked away and swallowed sharply, which was answer enough. "May I heal them?" 

"Mr. Graves already did." Credence's confusion only fueled Newt's concern but he cracked down on it by channeling it into taking care of the young man in front of him. 

"No, he did not and I'm inclined to think that _my_ Graves may be in quite the precarious position." Newt countered with another sigh. "May I see your hand?" 

"Just one." The flat order was shaken, but whatever had allowed Credence to keep ahold of his magic also allowed Newt to touch him. 

"If you'd like. I want you to see what I'm doing before I fix the rest." 

"... Oh." A single hand stuck out, awkward and pale against the harsh black of the sweater. Scars criss-crossed over the palm and showed against the back of the hand, which made Newt hiss in sympathy. 

He ran his wand over the most recent scar, coaxing the scar tissue to become regular tissue. Out of habit he stuck his wand in his mouth as he fished the catmint salve from his waistcoat pocket, smearing a generous amount on the scar. Newt levitated the jar and ran his wand over the scar again until it was a faint white line where before it had been a red, raised mess. 

"That, Credence, is how you heal." If his voice wobbled a little at the memory of using it on Percival, well, that was his own business. 

"If... If he's not Mr. Graves, Mr. Scamander, then who is he?" 

"I'll find out after I fix your scars. You can stay here or you can go collect your belongings-" 

"What about my sisters?" 

"Ah, I'll have to test them for magic." 

"I don't have magic." 

"Merlin help me, you most certainly do, Credence. It's unconventional but it is most definitely magic. I suspect your... Mother may have something to do with it turning out the way it has but there is nothing wrong with it or you." Newt pointed out as he continued to heal each and every scar he could see. "May I have your other hand?" 

Wordlessly, Credence pulled back his healed hand and offered the other, sniffing at his hand and flushing when he was caught. "... What is it?" 

"Catmint. Ah, catnip or arnica, I believe it's called in America. It's a natural muscle relaxer and I've mixed it into a salve. It's related to regular mint." He answered easily, knowing this subject quite well. 

"You keep... You keep answering me." 

"I thought you might appreciate someone who believed you and wouldn't lie to you." 

"An adult." 

"If you see it that way," he shrugged as he finished off the last line. "I think I've gotten all of your hand-" When Credence rolled up the sleeves of the dusky sweater, Newt's jaw worked before he inhaled. "You'll have to excuse me for a moment, Credence." 

"It's okay." Fear crackled in Credence's body, the slouch becoming a hunch. 

"No, it is _not_ but I swear on Merlin, Morgana and Hecate that I would never deliberately harm you." The swoosh of magic that followed meant that his promise had been registered. "You'll find swears and your word means a great deal in our world." 

"... Ours?" 

"Ours, yes, and your sister's as well. As I said, give me a moment." Newt created a Protega and a Muffilato as he yelled into a pillow. He cracked his neck, his shoulders and then did some brief breathing exercises before he dismantled his spells and went back to healing Credence. 

Credence watched him before his gaze wandered around the small accommodations. "It's... nice." 

"It's not where I stay, but yes, nice enough by Muggle standards." 

"Muggle?" 

"The imposter would've called it No-Maj. No magic resides in them but they're as human as anyone is." 

"I'm not human, am I?" 

"Mm, yes and no." Credence blinked at that. "You are as I am; gifted with an unusual talent amongst Wizardkind. Most of our world would call us creatures, I think, if it weren't for the fact that our abilities are rarer than most." 

"You have an affliction too?" 

"Affliction, talent... It's more than what other people call it. I'm what's known as a Dragon Heart. We get along better with magical beasts but most especially dragons. Some countries consider it evil, some consider it makes us beasts as well." 

"Why?" 

"There are stories from ages past that say a Dragon Heart is only a human so long as they wish to be; they're dragons at heart and can become a dragon if provoked past the point of reason." He explained as he carefully smeared more catmint salve. 

"Like me," Credence whispered. 

"Like you, yes," Newt patted the hand he was holding as he healed the scars up to the sleeve end but no further. "Control is an ever-going progress." 

"Control?" The sharp undercurrent of anger that Credence laced his question with had Newt clicking his tongue. 

"Ah, more... taking care that you don't hurt others or yourself. Self-restraint." 

Credence's striking shoulders lowered again, though not quite so much as last time. "I think I can do that." 

"Do you want tea?" Newt asked as he levitated the kettle off of the stove and poured it over the silk bag full of Earl Grey. 

"I've never had it." 

"There's nothing wrong with not knowing. Would you like to try it?" He reassured. 

"I... Yes. Yes I would." 

Drinking tea with Credence brought forth thoughts more bitter than oversteeped tea but he kicked them under a mental rug to focus on the young man in his company.

* * *

Not wanting to overwhelm Credence by immersing him in the Markets, Newt collected breakfast there by himself. He dropped by the drinks kiosk, sharing another table and then he heard, "It's not a problem, I think." 

"Oh?" The Leanan Sídhe, ever polite but Newt knew their tactics quite well. He was starting to think that this one fed off of awkward situations if this kept up. 

"Illustrious Leanan Sídhe," he greeted neutrally. 

"Ah, Dragon Souled—You are most troubled. What did I tell you?" The jet gaze focused on him. 

"I grabbed with both hands. Outside interference, before you ask." Newt cut in on the unasked question. 

The Sídhe gave a dark chuckle at that. "I pity the fool who thought it wise to get between such a connection as yours, Dragon Souled. I think you and the Swan have much to catch up on." 

"Swan? Oh that Sídhe—Oh. S... Dragon Souled, was it?" Auror Goldstein, her hair less tame than it had been the last time he saw her. 

"I need to talk to you." They recited at the same moment.

Newt motioned that she continue, "I can't say it here. Do you have a place?" 

"I do. Would you join me for breakfast?" Newt offered his elbow and she took it gracefully. 

"... Let's get a wiggle on." 

They walked in silence, the crunch of snow giving way to wet slush as they entered the Muggle hotel. 

"A Mr. Barebones said he was off to his abode, Father Scamander. He'll return before noon." The concierge delivered the message even as Newt nodded. 

"Thank you." Newt leaned briefly over the counter and slipped a gratuity over it. Tina had a Disillusionment Charm around her, gliding silently along the carpet into the room before Newt. 

"Is it safe?" She hissed quietly. 

"You're safe, my room is Warded. Only Credence will be able to get in without a warning since they're tuned to—" 

"Did you say Credence? As in Credence Barebone?! Mr. Scamander, that's..." She yelped in astonishment as the illusion faded. 

"Credence has magic, Auror Goldstein." He confessed as he made to put the rest of the food in the icebox. 

"I'm... I'm technically not an Auror anymore. It has a lot to do with Credence Barebone and Director Graves. There's something wrong..." 

"with him. Yes, I know." Newt sighed as he set the kettle back on with fresh water. 

"What do you mean Credence has magic?" 

"He's an Obscurial." 

"How-What-Where did you get that idea?" She fumbled but Newt waited her out as he got to work on breakfast. 

"I know what an Obscurial feels like." 

"That's impossible. He would've gone to Ilver-Oh. Oh that-that-harpy! His mother, she must have-" 

"Ripped it up and moved often enough that his magic went from the magic that could be detected to the sort that only Scamanders and perhaps three other families could find." Newt finished as he levitated a breakfast sandwich in front of her with a plate to keep the butter from dripping excessively. "Dragon Speakers are, unfortunately, painfully aware of Obscurials. We find more than I would want to see in my lifetime—" He cut himself off with a rough clearing of his throat. "Three this year, including Credence." 

The door creaked open and Credence closed it before he looked at Auror Goldstein with a brief head tilt. "Mr. Scamander, are there more of me?" 

"Obscurials are rare, true, but not impossible to find for Dragon Hearts. The first two... They were consumed when their inner magic warped fully." 

"And mine?" 

"You've lasted past the ten year mark; I would think you might be one of the few who learn to use your magic as it is." Newt sighed as he set down two more sandwiches and levitated both the coffee and the tea over to rest on hastily-Transfigured oven mitts. "It's a death sentence for most magical children but it is not impossible to wrest it into something effective for those who live." 

"... How many...?" Credence managed to croak out. 

"Around thirty individuals." he answered truthfully. "As I said, not impossible, merely more difficult." 

"How many have you helped?" 

"... Two have made it." Newt's hand shook as he added cream to his coffee but he set down the tiny container with a decisive thump. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Scamander." 

"Anyone would want to know their chances, Credence." He sighed as he ate. 

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Credence asked Auror Goldstein after he finished his sandwich. 

"Once." She replied stiffly. "And please, Mr. Scamander, just Tina will do." 

"Newt, then, both of you. The only Mr. Scamander I know is my Father."

* * *

The story of Credence and Mary Lou Barebone poured out between Tina and Credence, Tina filling in what Credence was missing. 

"But why do I still think I know you?" Credence asked. 

Tina sighed, "Your innate magic, the innermost part of you, fought the Obliviate. It's the only... explanation we have." 

"This situation is so far beyond magical theory that it's in uncharted waters." Newt added as he sat on the top of his suitcase stairs, spitting his wand out to talk, busy sorting food. "I don't suppose you'd like to come down?" 

"No thank you, Mr. Scamander." Credence shook his head but peered down to the shed's floor. "Maybe another time." 

"Fair enough. Tina?" 

"No thank you, Newt. I'm trying to figure out how to get you close enough to the Director that you can see if he's the real Graves." 

When the Niffler scrambled up the ladder and Newt snatched it before it could go for the silverware, an idea bloomed. He scratched under the Niffler's chin and contemplated the purring creature. "Perhaps I should let Kieran do what he does best. I do have to renew my permit if I'm to do my job here in the United States." 

"If it so happens that you pass Director Graves...." 

"What could be more fortuitous than a meeting between old friends?" Newt finished wryly. 

"Exactly. If it is the real Graves then he's not who we want leading our Law Enforcement Department." Tina admitted flatly. 

"If it is, in fact, the real Graves, then he's a man I no longer want to be... near." He swallowed at that last bit, clenching the Wampus claw so tightly that he pricked himself with the tip. "Ouch." 

"Your word means a great deal." Tina pointed out. 

"I know."

* * *

**-The Magical Congress of the United States of America; Magical Entrance #39-4; December 3rd, 1926-**

He renewed his permit, filled in the seemingly endless paperwork and then let Kieran out with a careless flick of his wand. 

The Niffler immediately crashed through several offices and Newt chased after him, apologizing as he went. 

"Terribly sorry but have you seen a Niffler running loose? He's a rehabilitating one so he shouldn't be moving quite this fast and-Oh, dear, there he goes. Thank you!" 

" _Arresto Momentum._ " Kieran was caught by a familiar voice, the Niffler levitated with a neutral-faced Percival. "I believe this is yours." 

Newt smiled, accepted Kieran and held the Niffler close as he said, "Thank you, Director Graves." 

"I'm sorry but have we met?" The three Aurors next to Percival looked between them in utter shock. 

Newt handed Kieran the Niffler off to Tina, who accepted him without a complaint. 

"Have we met? _Have we met?!_ I damn well hope so because if we haven't then you are **not** Director Graves! _Expelliarmus_! _Everte Statum_! _Glacius_!" Newt yelled, snapping off spells in succession to pin the man who was _most certainly not Percival Graves_ to the floor of MACUSA Headquarters. "Who are you?" 

"Release me this minute, sir! Do you know who you're attacking?" The indignant tone made Newt even angrier. 

"Show me the real you." He growled, stalking forward in utter silence. 

"Aurors! Arrest this man at once!" The liar tried to wriggle away and cracks began to appear on the ice. 

" _Duro_. I said, show me the _real you_ ," Newt repeated as he stood over the imposter. 

"For Morgana's sake, will someone help me?!" 

"If you don't know him, sir, what's to say you know us at all?" came the cold response from the Aurors that had been accompanying him. 

"I. Said. Show. Me. The. Real. You!" Newt bellowed, his world turning red at the edges for a moment as he lunged forward. The immense boom that followed his step had the imposter under... a set of claws. Ones that looked an awful lot like the shade of Newt's hair. He heaved in a breath and blew it out, smoke following it much to his surprise. 

Newt used his new height and weight to press down, cracking the ice and the floor beneath his talons but he didn't care. 

The man underneath him wasn't Percival at all and the shock of white-blond made him snarl. 

" _ **Grindelwald**_." 

The gasping from the crowd had him looking up to see Tina still holding a frightened Kieran. Half of the Aurors pointed their wands at him and the other half at Grindlewald scrabbling futilely at his immense grip. 

" _ **Where did you put him? Where did you put the real Graves?**_ " 

Grindelwald paled at his question, gurgling as Newt leaned more weight on the Dark Wizard before he pulled back slightly. 

"GURGHK!" the mismatched gaze met Newt's infuriated snarl and then, "Figure... It... Out..." 

" ** _I will peel you apart slowly with my teeth and enjoy it, make no mistake about that, Grindelwald. Give me what I want and you may live to face a trial._** " he rumbled out, slowly tightening his grip. " ** _That or I see if I can breathe fire as well as any other dragon._** " 

Grindelwald struggled harder at that, hissing out, " _Acci_ -Urk!"

Newt inhaled, fire tickling the back of his throat as he made ready to exhale. 

Fire gouged out in waves, melting the floor as the flames roared higher. 

Grindelwald was burnt, half of his hair missing, the crackle of a weak _Protega_ having shielded him from the worst of it. 

" ** _WHERE IS HE?_** " Newt roared, the windows of MACUSA rattling as his tail lashed out. 

"... Estate... Graves... Estate... Stables..." came the wheezed answer. 

" ** _He's yours. I'm looking for Percival._** " Newt told the Aurors, trying to calm down as he heaved in breaths. He removed his talons from the thoroughly disheveled Dark Wizard. " ** _Move and I'll kill you, Dark Wizard or not._** " 

"I suppose the Leanan Sídhe was right," Tina offered as Newt shook himself to try and change back. "Oh dear. Don't tell me you're stuck like that; you can't fit through the -Oh. That would help." 

Newt shrank, blinking several times as he looked at his hands. "Indeed, Ms. Goldstein. Care to help me look for Director Graves after you give me my Niffler back?" 

"Certainly."

* * *

**-Graves Estate; Main Gate; December 3rd, 1926-**

Newt knew that Estates were immense magical properties that held their own magics. He knew that they had nearly no chance at all getting in without the permission of a Graves. 

He leaned against the wrought iron gates, not expecting them to open at his touch. 

Newt looked between his hands and the iron gates, absolutely flabbergasted, Tina closing his open jaw with her index finger. Even though he was beyond exhausted after his change at MACUSA, he found a second wind as he bolted for the stables. 

He scattered a herd of Thestrals, finding Hades and leaning on the massive stallion. "Help me find Percival." 

Hades gingerly stepped towards an empty stall, nosing Newt over to a hastily heaped chunk of hay. He fell to his knees, clearing it by hand before he Vanished it with a flick of his wand. "Percival!" 

Dull eyes rose up to meet his tear-filling ones and they widened briefly before Newt hauled his lover out of the shallow ditch Percival had been left in. He found the cord and tugged the Wampus claw out of his shirt even as he did the same for Percival's dewclaw. 

"... Newt?" The faint voice made him sob, cradling Percival to him, their shared tokens clacking together as he pressed kisses to the top of dirty black-n-silver hair. "Where...?" 

"I almost killed him, 'Val, I came so close because he wouldn't tell me where you were." He confessed in a hushed voice, his hand over Percival's chest to feel his beating heart. "I love you." 

"... Love you." Percival's fingers clenched around Newt's wrist with a strength borne of relief. "Missed you." 

"I know." Newt sniffed as he lifted Percival, both of them dirty and sooty and covered in unmentionable materials but _together_ in all of the ways that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


	7. The Dragon's Hoard in the Wampus Den

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't want it to end?!? But alas, all good things must. 
> 
> Enjoy~

* * *

****

**Epilogue**

* * *

**-St. Helena's Healing Arts, New York; Intensive Care Unit, Room 11; December 9th, 1926-**

"—did what?!" Percival rasped harshly, propped up on numerous pillows, heavily bandaged and furious. 

"Sir, it's not my decision-" 

"Auror Feldman, they clearly do not know Sgt. Scamander." The way Percival glared at the poor Auror made Newt chuckle softly from his spot in the hallway. "Get me Auror Goldstein." 

Newt swore he could hear the _idiots, all of them, why me?_ that followed it. 

Tina went in and Percival spoke softer, but no less intensely, his scarred hands motioning with a four-finger point at the file currently in her hands. 

All Newt got out of it was, "... do not let them cement that color until they talk to me in person. I want them to look me in the eyes and tell me why they intend to change it so quickly. I want them to see what he fixed." 

The Aurors in the hall flinched at his stern reminder that he was still the Director of Magical Security and Magical Law Enforcement, even if he was on Healer-enforced bed rest. 

"May I go in now?" Newt questioned dryly as he took his wand back from the security Auror. 

"What's with the salve, Scamander-" 

"Let him in." Percival grumbled. "It's _my_ salve, you goof, and it's none of your damned beeswax." 

"... Yessir." 

"Close the door while you're at it." Pericval finished as he settled back into the pillow nest with a pained groan. "I'm sorry you had to see that, Newt." 

"I turned into an enormous dragon, 'Val. They're understandably defensive." Newt chided even as he sat on the bed, wand tucked into his mouth as he smeared salve over Percival's jagged scars—many of them still deep pink or darker. He paid attention to where Percival flinched and dried the salve with a wordless charm. 

Cleaning his hands on a cloth was the work of a moment, sheathing his wand even less. He took Percival's hand, not expecting to get pulled down for a kiss. "You did it for me?" 

Newt propped himself onto his elbows and looked at Percival as he breathed in a steady rhythm. "He asked if he'd _met_ me, 'Val." 

Percival's brow wrinkled at that, his stern frown smoothing back into a softer expression as he thoughtfully murmured, "Grindelwald might go after you." 

"... Professor Dumbledore _did_ say he held a grudge rather well. I can hold my own without having to do what I did last week, love." Newt huffed as he wriggled onto the bed and curled around Percival. 

"True. Does that make me your hoard?" Percival teased as he leaned into Newt's embrace. 

" _Percival_!" 

"Mm, I mean, I'm already yours, what's one more title cementing the fact?" 

"You're incorrigible." 

"Says the _literal_ Dragon's Heart..." Percival waned, trailing off mid-thought. 

When the Healer checked on Percival, she found herself locking gazes with a sleepy Newt, a low growl rumbling from him as he stirred briefly.

* * *

Newt spent his time split between Percival at St. Helena's, teaching Credence how to use his magic, signing Chastity up for Ilvermorny and updating his MACUSA file with reinstated Auror Goldstein. 

He looked from the emerald folder to the topaz one, into which his papers were being transferred. "Do I really merit a yellow?" 

"Several Aurors, myself included, and Director Graves testified on your behalf. They were going to label you with a crimson file." 

"Maximum threat. Is it the dragon bit or...?" 

"You're a yellow because you're only a threat to those who hurt Director Graves. You haven't hurt anyone else aside from a notorious Dark Wizard and haven't made any moves to hurt anyone besides said Dark Wizard." 

"I suppose I do merit a change in color." He'd done quite the number on Grindelwald, in the names of both Credence and Percival, and to MACUSA Headquarters as a result. He'd had to walk past the enormous dent in the marble to get to Tina's old office; no one had apparently repaired the deep crack that came with it. 

"That and you've taken guardianship of an Obscurus, a rather talented witch about to attend Ilvermorny at the start of the new year and another one to follow." Tina snorted. "The Scamander clan has grown quite a bit. Or is it Graves-Scamander?"

Newt pretended he didn't hear the last question.

* * *

**-Lipisky Cottage; Watkins Glen, New York; December 11th, 1926-**

He spun around in it, tapping his boot as all three Barebones investigated the upstairs. 

"Well, Mr. Scamander?" 

"I'll have to get three other opinions before I say yes, Mrs. Lipisky, but so far so good." He admitted. 

"Newt, Newt, there's a room at the top—Ma'am." Credence hugged Newt so hard that he'd lifted him off the ground a little before keeping ahold of him. "Yes, I like it." 

"Mr. Scamander, I like it." Chastity blurted and then Modesty hugged his leg, looking up with soft blue eyes. 

"Me too." 

"I suppose it's a yes." He chuckled softly, gently rubbing at Credence's shoulder before doing the same for Chastity and Modesty. "Mrs. Lipisky and I have to talk but if you want to stay...?" 

"No thank you," Modesty answered, "C'mon, Chas, lets go see what's outside. Credence you're coming with, right?" 

"Of course, Modesty." Credence followed after his sisters, Newt motioning that it was alright. 

He watched them go with a huff, thinking how he'd gone back to the church with Credence and had carefully Obliviated Mary Lou Barebone into thinking she'd lost the siblings to a terrible fever and Credence to a missionary.

Newt had taken them in with the excuse that they were orphaned and he'd seen enough of that in the War. It helped that they'd tested positive for magic, all three of them, with Credence taking remedial courses at the Magical Division of Dartmouth College. 

"The rumor mill runs quite well up here, Mr. Scamander. I've heard you adopted those three out of the goodness of your heart." 

"I... My family's sort of small but they're wonderful. I thought, if anything, these three could do with a family and a house and... well, enough space to grow. Half the time they're more skittish than a Hippogriff foal; I'm trying to let them know that it's alright to relax." Newt explained as he walked outside to the covered porch. 

"Oh. You think that whoever had them before...?" 

"I think, had they stayed much longer, we'd have more than one Obscurial." Newt corrected. 

Mrs. Lipisky's lips thinned at that, "The youngest?" 

"The oldest."

* * *

**St. Helena's Healing Arts, New York; Intensive Care Unit, Room 11; December 23rd, 1926-**

He fell asleep more often than not on Percival's hospital bed, curled protectively around his lover. 

"Newt? I'm to be discharged shortly and they've taken my work-related lodging to process it. I don't suppose I could...?" Dark eyes looked at Newt hopefully. 

"There's room in the master bedroom. I'm afraid I found some children, adopted them and then had to get a cottage to have room for all of them." 

"... Children?" 

"An Obscurial and two incredibly talented witches for their ages. I'll have to stay put for a moment, just to establish Chastity as a student, really-" Newt explained as he motioned with his hands, only for Percival to capture one and press a kiss to the back of it. "People are going to see," he murmured even as he gave Percival a quick peck on the cheek. 

"You sort of blew that out of the water when _you transformed into a dragon_ for my sake, Newt." Percival pointed out with a soft laugh as he leaned in for a kiss, "I doubt we can do much to change our status in the rumor mill." 

"Hmm, there is that." Newt agreed as he kissed Percival, slow and languid to keep with the Healer's orders. "It's a cottage in Watkins Glen, next to the river and practically buried in trees and a smaller magical community." 

Healer Sprout cleared her throat and Newt made to pull back when she asked, "Is that a permanent change of address for you, Director Graves?" 

"Permanent enough," Percival allowed as he laced his fingers with Newt's. "Mr. Scamander and I live together for the foreseeable future." 

"Huh. Good enough for me. Swing by Reception to fill it in on the Director's papers. I take it you are also still his Emergency contact?" 

"... Yes, yes I am." The second she left, Newt turned on Percival with a shrewd look. "Emergency contact, 'Val?" 

"I might have keyed you to the Graves Estate gates and... put you and my Mama down as equal contacts." Percival mumbled as he stroked his thumb across the back of Newt's hand. 

"Now I know why you stole my shirt. When?" 

"After I got back from Kazahkstan. I... You weren't the only one who fell in love at an inconvenient point, Newt." He replied, hissing as his emphasizing gesture tugged at a scar on his back. "I've loved but twice in my life and you are my last." 

Newt crooned as he straddled Percival. "Undying devotion, hmm?" 

"Healer Sprout will be very upset if she walks in on us again, dearest." His lover huffed out even as his clever fingers managed to find bare skin under Newt's shirt. 

"Let her," he breathed out, "You'll just be coming home with me a lot earlier." 

"How scandalous..." Percival chuckled even as Newt muffled his breathless laughter against a broad shoulder.

* * *

**-Thestral Cottage; Watkins Glen, New York; December 24th, 1926-**

Newt helped Percival into the parlor, settling him in the almost overstuffed chair. 

Credence startled when he set foot out of the kitchen. 

"Credence, this is the real Percival Graves." 

Percival took in Credence with an assessing stare before he snorted. "Hmph, too bony by far. Newt, what have you been feeding him?" 

"Hey, I'll have you know-" Newt protested. 

"You may have taken the laundry and simpler fare but I'm the better cook, Newt." Percival limped forward until he stood close to Credence but far enough that he wasn't in within touching distance. "You look like an egg salad man. Am I wrong?" 

Credence blinked at that, black swirls curling around his lower arms, white film encroaching at his fear. 

"Ah, 'Val..." 

"Egg... salad, sir?" Credence practically begged Newt to come between them with his look. 

"Newt, you haven't introduced him to _egg salad_?" Percival limped into the kitchen at that, right past Credence without missing a beat. "A travesty, I tell you, an honest-to-Morgana travesty." 

"... _That's_ the real Mr. Graves?"

"I did tell you that while Grindelwald made a good impersonation of his work face... He didn't capture Percival's spirit. There's always more than appearance when it comes to a man like Mr. Graves." Newt shrugged helplessly at Credence's surprise. 

"Newt, tell me we've got pickles?" Percival called out as the eggs from this morning's collection floated past Newt's face into the kitchen. They had to keep the eggs out of reach of the Occamies and thus, elsewhere. 

"They're in the pantry, love. I do apologize for his abruptness. He doesn't know anything about your encounters with Grindelwald other than the fact that said Dark Wizard was wearing his face to do it." 

"Aaand, done! Lunch is ready, Newt, Mr. Barebone." 

"Thank you... and it's Credence, sir." Credence sat down as Newt divvied up the food, setting aside plates for the girls when they finished with playing Quidditch outside. 

"Sir? In our home? No, no, no, Percival, please; Mr. Graves if you absolutely must. Sit, sit, eat." Dark eyes watched eagerly as Credence gingerly took a bite of the sandwich Newt already knew was amazing. 

Credence solemnly chewed until he was done, swallowing and then looked up at Percival's expectant expression. "It's wonderful, Mr. Graves." 

"Mm, I'm glad you like it. Have a few more and perhaps you could tell me what sort of plan Newt has you doing for remedial studies?" Percival asked even as he absently accepted Newt's kiss. 

Credence's manners were clearly the only thing keeping his food in his mouth. 

"Can... men do that... here?" He asked faintly after he'd finished. 

"You'll find that the Wizarding World has differing opinions than those of the No-Majs on certain subjects. This would be one of them." Newt gently informed Credence even as Percival reached up and squeezed Newt's hand on his shoulder. 

"Mother would've said it was wrong but... She was wrong about a great many things. I'll see for myself first before I make a decision." Credence's response was slow and thoughtful; something Newt and Credence had been working on together. "I knew a version of you that might not exist and it scares me but seeing the real you helps me separate what's fact from fiction."

* * *

Percival slowly integrated into the house, sometimes startled by the energy of both Chastity and Modesty—particularly when it came to being outside. 

-THWAP!-

"Oh, Mr. Graves, I'm so sorry!" Chastity held her gloved hands over her mouth but Percival only chuckled and wiped the snow off of his face. Newt helped him clear it out of his hair, accidentally causing a chunk of snow to plop into Percival's levitating cup. 

"You were playing. My coffee's just a little less warm now." Percival chuckled as he settled into the chair on the open porch. "Go on, go have fun." 

"Thank you Mr. Graves!" Modesty chirruped as she threw a snowball at Credence. 

Percival smiled behind the rim of his cup, Newt perched on the edge of the chair. "You, come here." Newt squeaked as he was dragged into the chair and then snuggled close, both of them watching as Credence got overwhelmed by the girls. 

A grumpy and ruffled Occamy chick popped up from Percival's houserobe pocket as Newt leaned in for a kiss. "Helenka! The case rules stand, even here." The Occamy chick peeped with pleading eyes, trying to be cute with him in order to stay in the cozy nest. "Oh no you don't; Mummy's putting you back with your siblings." 

He scooped her up with a sigh, only to be met with Percival's version of pleading. "She'll stay put, won't you, sweetheart? Won't go flying out where the No-Majs can see?" 

"I see you've recruited the ultimate weapon in the house, Helenka." Newt grumbled as he tucked her back into the soft flannel pocket. "Only for today and only because 'Val asked nicely, you naughty little Occamy." 

Helenka snuggled into the pocket again, her tiny tongue sticking halfway out of her mouth as she began to snooze upside-down. Percival only shook his head at Newt's eye roll. "You're home, Newt, the rules can be bent ever so slightly." 

"Who-" Newt bit his tongue, the rest of the joke caught in his throat with the memory of Grindelwald so close to the surface. 

"Hmm. What can I say? I'm a born sucker for children and little animals. Mama used to tell me I was too soft with Hades, you know, and you've seen him." The enormous stallion was well-behaved but honestly a little shit when it came to people other than Percival and Newt. "That and I'm with you. I can relax." 

Newt did kiss Percival that time, happy to reassure his love that he was here for him.

* * *

Newt muffled his amusement as Percival stared down the Healer assigned to his case after Healer Sprout; a Healer Bloom, he believed. 

"Director Graves, please take the potion. I don't want to make this anymore painful than it has to be..." Healer Bloom sighed. 

Newt held out his hand even as he wrote a revise of his chapter, going over the notes in red from his editor. When the bottle hit his palm, he popped it open, sniffed the contents and then handed it off to Percival. "It's perfectly safe,'Val. My catmint salve can only do so much you know." 

"But..." 

"I'm also a magizoologist, not a Master Healer who spent a decade or so learning his craft." Newt countered Percival's inevitable grumbling. "Remember Nepal?" 

Percival sighed, drank the potion with a sour expression and rose a brow at the flabbergasted Healer. "What." 

"He just... _How_?!" 

"I've years in dealing with his stubbornness. The first time we met, I had to tell him to let the Healers in the tent to do their job." Newt hummed as he absently chewed on the provided quill's tip. "Director Graves must be out-stubborned before you can even _think_ about healing him." 

"... May I ask about Nepal?" 

"I sat on his chest while a Nepalese Healer fixed his broken arm from idiotically fighting a magical beast three times his size _after I told him its volatile_ and worse than a Hippogriff in a snit." Newt snorted. "Upper arm, before you ask, and yes, fully healed after he stopped fighting me." 

"How long have you been together?" 

Percival chuckled the wry question from Healer Bloom. "Two years, though we've known each other for about a decade now." 

"You two met in the War?" 

"... Met might be a strong word for it, I sort of plucked him out of the battlefield on dragon back." Newt offered as Percival's free hand sought out his own. He put down his work to support his lover during the magical scan. 

"I thought that was a rumor made up by MACUSA staff."

"Afraid it's fact, Healer Bloom, even if it sounds like something out of a Bard's Tale." He admitted with a shrug. "How is he doing?" 

"Healing relatively well for his age and the amount of trauma inflicted. You mentioned catmint salve earlier, may I see it?" Healer Bloom asked. Newt handed over the flat container, well aware that it was mostly empty and he'd have to refill it soon. "You use it quite a bit, I take it." 

"Works like a charm for most injuries but things deeper than my scratches and minor injuries require intensive healing before use." Newt turned his forearm in the light, highlighting the various white scars against his skin from fractious creatures and feed bucket scratches. "Like I said, it does a lot but it can't heal everything." 

"It's still fairly impressive as a salve. Have you thought about selling it?" 

"Hmm, not really? I use it out of habit and it'd be based off of Hippogriff liniment." He answered as he took back the tin. 

Percival dragged a hand down his face at that. "The rough translation, Healer Bloom? No, he hasn't and no, he probably won't because it's Scamander-specific; you need to be considered family for it to be used." 

"Ah."

* * *

**-Thestral Cottage; Watkins Glen, New York; March 2nd, 1927-**

The first day Percival was allowed back on light duty, Newt followed him to the porch, watching as Percival awaited the delivery of The Daily Soothsayer—the American equivalent of The Daily Prophet—in his houserobe and slippers. His coffee steamed in the early morning light as he leaned on the mail box, a soft inhale his only concession to the slightly warmer air. 

"Morning neighbors!" 

"Good morning." Newt waved to Mrs. Dreyfus out of habit, cradling his mug. 

Percival drank his coffee with a raised brow and turned to Newt with a questioning look. 

"That's Mrs. Dreyfus, love." 

"Oh! Is he the one that you bundled in right before Christmas?" 

"Yes, yes he is, Mrs. Dreyfus. I'd like to introduce you to Mr. Graves." Newt shuffled down the walkway and wrapped around Percival but got a grumble in reply. "He's... not really a morning person." 

"We've got a Graves living in Watkins Glen?! Mr. Scamander, I didn't know you knew..." She trailed off, Newt smothering his laughter in Percival's shoulder. 

He knew exactly what face Percival was wearing and it wasn't one for company, invited or not. 

"Like I said, ma'am, not a morning person at all." 

"... Indeed." 

Percival raised his arm for the delivery owl, offered it a treat from his pocket and scritched it's chest feathers briefly before it took off. He tucked the paper under his arm, Newt moving to accommodate Percival in a dance they knew far too well to ever get tangled.

* * *

Percival Apparated onto the front porch, the familiar scowl cracking at the sight of Newt, Helenka and Helenka's nest siblings de-bugging the lawn in an attempt to teach the Occamies how to hunt. 

"What are you doing, dearest?" 

"Teaching them how to hunt!" Newt launched one particularly fat grub out onto the lawn and watched in amusement as Helenka horked it down her throat first. "She's going to get massive, 'Val, just you watch." 

"... Are they eating the invasive Horklumps too?" 

A pink lump was split between Brutus and Cassiopeia, both of them growling with tiny ferociousness. 

"Horklumps, bugs and I'll be honest with you, we might not even have garden gnomes. Occamies are opportunistic eaters, after all." Newt shrugged as Percival drew Newt into a kiss that made his toes curl. "I'm sorry you had to deal with practically all of MACUSA wanting to see you." 

"Every single Department had _something_ they needed inspected, protected or otherwise engaged so that I was required to step in as a Director. I was _this close_ ," barely a millimeter lay between Percival's fingers, "to killing someone so that I could get a break. I contemplated Floo-calling you strictly for motivational purposes." 

"You would've caught Credence and I at remedials. We're doing wandless mostly because he doesn't do so well at the sight of any but mine, yours and Chastity's. We might have to handcraft his, honestly, from the wood surrounding the cottage." He caught Percival's look and murmured, "What?" 

"You would've made an excellent teacher." 

"Me, sitting still to earn a degree? No, no, no; there's a reason my Boggart's paperwork, love." Newt shook his finger at Percival, only to have his hand caught and kissed. He giggled, drawing Percival in for another kiss and then tugging him inside to the master bedroom. "You are a delight."

* * *

**-Thestral Cottage; Watkins Glen, New York; September 1st, 1927-**

Newt sighed as both Credence and Percival shuffled in with sheepish looks. 

Credence had bloody knuckles, a nosebleed and split skin on his jawline while Percival had his arm in a sling and the limp he'd gained from Grindelwald had returned. 

"Modesty, go fetch my kit please. Chastity's just off to school and here you two are covered in wounds. Why?" He chided as he sat both of them down, Modesty dashing off in a whirl of blonde for the kit in the bathroom. 

"Someone said Percival wasn't really my—guardian." Credence defended hotly, white flashing briefly over his eyes before he wrestled the Obscurus back. He knew how to use it at will now and to his advantage in a fight, much to Newt's chagrin. 

"Bad raid, dearest. Illegal Hippogriff-fighting ring, if you can believe it. That and busting the same speakeasy for selling Giggle Water to No-Majs _again_. The Wizarding World doesn't need more trouble from New York's No-Maj government. Madame President can't be in more than one place at once..." 

"Prohibition's a mess." Credence murmured dryly as Newt put two band-aids over the shallow scrape against his jawline. "It's illegal to get ossified so folks do it anyways." 

Percival directed the softer gauze to wrap around Credence's knuckles in a familiar pattern by now. Credence got into a lot of fights when it came to defending Percival or Newt and it was a fact in the cottage, same as Percival going on raids. 

Newt sighed as he patched his men up and then set the kettle on, tucking himself into the squashy armchair with Percival. Credence sat on the loveseat, scooping up a stray Occamy chick to make room for himself amongst the pile of Occamies and a giggling Modesty. 

When the kettle shrieked, Credence levitated the tea over to the side table. The cups were still steaming as he watched Helenka settle into her perch on the squashiest chair in the cottage. 

Newt would have to leave soon; the Occamies were getting too large to remain in the cottage or the case for much longer. Percival and Credence talked, Newt drifting along as he listened to the beat of Percival's heart. 

He wondered briefly at what might've been if his unit hasn't been on search and rescue, if Justifiat hadn't chewed through his flame-guard and needed Newt to ride him. 

The moment, with most of his family within reach, made him hum in satisfaction. This right here? This was the Glumbumble bee's knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, complain, ect.


End file.
